


Give Me a Break

by WaldosAkimbo



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Comfort Later, F/M, Hurt now, I want Mantis to find a lady at the beach and be super cute about it, Kraglin Whump, M/M, Minor Angst, OHANA MEANS FAMILY, Stamora, Tags May Change, Vacation Time, Yondu Udonta Lives, kragdu, the Unspoken Thing, yondad at it again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2018-02-06
Packaged: 2018-12-15 19:30:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 36,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11812701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaldosAkimbo/pseuds/WaldosAkimbo
Summary: The Guardians of the Galaxy decide they need a break. And since Yondu (who totally lived you guys, don't even...why would you say otherwise?) and Kraglin got a vacation after the whole Ego incident, the Guardians decide they get one too. Just a big whole family. Just a bunch of jerks.





	1. Fool Around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Guardians need a vacation. They're tense. They're distant. One of them set themselves on fire. It's time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I was going to work on another Aim to Fire piece with Yondu teaching Peter how to fly the Milano, but I just really wanted to get this one out instead. So, I hope you enjoy!

“If you point that at my face one more time, rodent, I will—”

“I wasn’t pointin’  it at _your_ face! I was pointin’ it at the _bad guys_ and your head just happened to be in the way!”

“Guys!” Peter zipped into the melee, skidding on the rocky terrain as his rocket boots sputtered off. “Can we _please_ just go, like, ten seconds without you two—”

“She started it!” Rocket rolled out of the way as the ground behind him exploded in a bubbly mountain from a plasma blast. He was on his feet in a flash, firing over the range. Something up on the mountain top exploded, rippling greasy black smoke up into the clouds above. “I’m doin’ my _job_. We’re all just doin’ our job. Just makin’ them units and killin’ all these bad guys.”

A mostly-on-fire Drax ran by, waving his arms over his head not to put out the flames—as one might expect—but to brandish the red hot blades he had gripped in his fists. Peter would have expected screaming from any other sane individual but, true to Drax fashion, he was clearly shouting a battle cry. A red light grazed his shoulder. Someone had their sights on the _literal beacon_ and got off a few rounds. Didn’t even slow him down.

“Can someone put him out before he actually hurts himself?” asked Quill.

Gamora gave him an eye. She was always giving him an eye. It was this cold look, pointed, unblinking. She was mad. Sure. So was Rocket. So was….

“I am Groot!”

“That’s a terrible idea,” said Rocket as he scooped the small Flora Colossus off the ground to perch there on his shoulder.

“I am Groot?”

“Because you’re made of wood.”

“I am Groot.”

“Because wood _burns_ , Groot. Come on.”

“I am Groot!”

“No you’re not. Quill’s gonna anyways cause he’s a big ol’ fire fighter. Aren’t ya, Quill?”

Quill sighed, shoulders slumped as he spun and shot down the raider who leapt out into the clearing, jaws snapping. Peter didn’t kill him with the same zest as Drax or the intense precision as Gamora. He barely looked at the man when he fired, just pumped three blasts into his chest cavity and stomped his rocket boot back on.

“We’re gettin’ a vacation after this is done,” said Quill, already hovering a little off the ground.

“You swear this time, Terran-Boy, because _last_ time we tried to do the whole family vacation thing, I almost got poached by those daft idiots on Sattor.”

“Yeah, well.” Quill shrugged again as he rocketed off to collect anything from the Milano that might help him put Drax out.

“I am Groot?”

“Nah,” said Rocket, pivoting back a little as the blaster in his hands extended, revealing four barrels and a hazy green sight screen. “He’s only pissed cause ‘Daddy’ didn’t come to play.”

“I am Groot?”

“I know! Humies gotta be _so_ temperamental. Not us, huh, Groot?” Rocket widened his stance, ears flattening as he watched the little heat signatures flare up on his sight screen. “We got our heads on straight, don’t we?”

“I am Groot.”

“It is _not_ lopsided. It looks fine, Groot.”

“I am Groot.”

“No, my head looks fine too,” said Rocket, his muzzle crinkling at the edges, flashing all his pointy little teeth. “We all look fine. Everybody looks fine. You gotta work on yer head issues, y’know? Some people like hats.”

“I am Groot?”

“No, of course _I_ don’t.”

“I am Groot!”

“Sure.” By the heat signatures, it looked like they were surrounded. Drax was throwing off a little interference as he cut a long white-hot path in front of them, but Rocket wasn’t stupid enough to ignore the calculations to compensate. And, anyways, Quill was already flying back with what looked like a canister and long hose. Rocket put his finger on the trigger, mouth twitching again in a smile. “But first? I'mma kill these guys.”

*

“I don’t even know what that is.” Quill poked the gelatinous blob, rosy-colored tendrils gently undulating around the base. “So you eat it?”

“If you did,” said Gamora as she lowered the glass shield over the blob, “it would be the last meal you would enjoy.”

“But I _would_ enjoy it, right?” asked Quill, lifting an eyebrow. He still knelt down in front of the box and watched the tiny yellow spores bubble up near the tulip-shaped head.

“They say that it is one of the most rare delicacies, yes,” said Gamora. She straightened the bracers on her arm and dusted off pants. “So delicious it would drive a simple man insane and anything he ate afterwards would taste like dirt.”

“Oh. I don’t wanna eat dirt the rest of my life.” Peter flicked the glass with his finger. The tendrils raised a little, slightly agitated before they settled again. “Guess that’s why the Favorite Prince of Znai is paying so much to get one then, huh? He’s already had a sample?”

“I do not know,” Gamora answered without looking at him. “One would assume.”

“Yep. One has. Assumed, I mean.”

Now she wasn’t even giving him an eye and it was really annoying. Quill almost reached out to grab her arm but she had pulled out one of her blades to clean and he learned pretty quick it wasn’t the best idea to try and touch Gamora when she had a blade out you could see. Or not see, even. Sometimes she was scary when she was sleeping too. God, he loved that about her, honestly. It was weird, but it made him feel safe. And he kinda hoped that just having him there made her feel safe too.

“Hey,” he said and stood to his full height, stretching on the doorframe from the cargo hold to the small galley/main sleeping quarter/weapons locker/Rocket’s workbench—the Milano wasn’t the Quadrant or nothing and they had to be up for multi-purpose rooms for these longer hauls. “Uh, I was talking to Rocket back there. On, well, on the mission and everything. And, uh, I was thinking.”

“A rare hobby,” said Gamora, pushing out her lips with the tip of her tongue. She didn’t smile, not exactly, but she was teasing him and that was a step in the right direction.

“Sure,” said Quill and laughed in good humor. “But, well, I was hoping, you know, after we deliver this to Znai that, well, maybe we can all go on a vacation.”

“A vacation,” she echoed back. She slid the length of her blade down the whet stone. “Last time, Rocket was almost—”

“Yeah, I _know_.”

“Perhaps it would serve well if he were collected and taken in as a pet.”

“You don’t mean that,” said Peter, straightening again.

He saw Gamora’s shoulders bend just a little. She so rarely relaxed. Thanos had really drilled it into her, that soldier’s stance. Peter couldn’t even imagine what he’d be like if Yondu or the Ravagers had been like that when he was growing up. What kinda nut job would he be if he was like the Nova Corps or something? Not that the Ravagers didn’t leave a few hard lessons of their own.

“No,” she conceded at last. “I do not mean that.”

“Yeah. Yeah, we could _all_ use a vacation, huh?”

There was only the sound of the blade scraping across the stone; clean, clear, perfect. Peter wanted to come up behind her and wrap his arms around her, sway a little to one of the songs coming through the Milano’s speakers and kiss the top of her head. She’d been a little distant after Nebula left. Things weren’t all rainbows and sunshine between the two, but it was clear that some of the bridge had been patched and now that the crazy scary villain-turned-not-so-villain was gone, Gamora felt a little…colder. Sadder? Angrier? Something. She felt something and she wasn’t even saying what that something was. Not exactly the easiest to read.

Peter wanted to talk to somebody about it, but who? Drax? And have him laugh in his face? Or, what, Mantis? She’d probably touch his hand or something and pull another dumb deep dark secret out and he just _didn’t_ need that. Like, Mantis was cool. He felt somewhat responsible for her safety and well-being, enough that he had her stay back on the Milano while they went hunting for the plant/creature/ _thing_ for the Favorite Prince. She even helped him get the extinguisher that had put out the flames Drax had doused himself in. Which, get this, was on _purpose._ Oh my god, they were all losing it, they seriously needed that vacation, there was no question. Yondu got a freakin’ vacation, didn’t he? Okay, but, yeah. He deserved it. Nearly dying in the freezing void meant he could go away for as long as he needed. Kraglin was there to take care of him too, so, that was…. Whatever. He didn’t miss them. They were allowed to go on a vacation. They could go do… _whatever!_

Plus, and this was just Quill putting Quill into the mix, as he often did, there was the Unspoken Thing dangling between him and Gamora. He could let it go, he could, but she had said things and he had said things and his core thrummed with a nervous energy. Dancing helped. It always helped. But Gamora, even though she had moves when _she_ wanted to, wasn’t up for dancing then. He could tell.  So, Peter sighed, wiped his hands down the front of his shirt and put on a smile as he went up to the cabin to sit with the others and ask where they might want to go after they finished the delivery.

“How’s our course lookin’?” asked Quill as he climbed up into the cabin.

“Got thirty jumps to Znai,” Rocket answered from his copilot seat, two tiny paws wrapped around the joy sticks.

Peter went over to take his usual spot but noticed Groot strapped in, munching on his skittles—no, they weren’t actually skittles, but they were colorful candy and the best assimilation Peter had to what he could remember Terran skittles actually being like. They were called grttzrs, but that was literally ridiculous and Peter liked skittles way better.

“Don’t eat all those,” said Peter, eyeing the little twig-terror, “or you’ll get a stomach ache.”

“I am Groot.”

“Dude, I’ve cleaned up your vomit.”

Groot took another handful and shoved the candies into his mouth, munching obnoxiously as he glared up at Quill.

“Okay, but when you throw up, don’t expect—”

“It would be best to clean up when it is fresh, rather than when it has time to sit.”

Peter spun and saw the lumpy gray mass stretched out on the floor with Mantis working a salve onto patches of bright shiny skin. Drax sounded drunk. His face was smashed into the grated floor, but he didn’t seem to mind. Whatever was in the salve must have been nice, even if it did smell about as bad as a burning skunk. Mantis smiled and applied the salve gently, but her little bug antennae were lit up and she flashed a quick worried look at Peter before she returned to her ministrations.

“How you doin’ there, Human Torch?”

“I am not a torch,” said Drax and Mantis at the same time. Mantis looked annoyed, but then concentrated again and pushed Drax to calm down.

“He’ll be okay,” said Rocket from the copilot chair. He didn’t turn to look. Barely said it loud enough over his shoulder. But Peter heard, all the same.

“Well.” Peter put his hands on his hips. He wasn’t gonna grimace or nothing. Had to give Mantis the impression that she was doing good. Hell, she _was_ doing good. “You look rough.”

“He’s been through worse,” said Rocket. “Haven’t ya, ya big idiot?”

“Oh yes,” Drax answered and laughed. Mantis giggled a little too, but then something flashed on her face and she grimaced, pulling her hand away to sever the connection. Drax, sprawled on the floor, continued laughing despite himself. “Much worse!”

Peter’s mouth twisted in a lopsided scowl before he knelt by Mantis and took the little tub of cream from her.

“Are you certain? I could make him sleep, if that would be easier,” she said, blinking those big black eyes. “He has told me he does not want to sleep, but he is very tired.”

“Nah, that’s okay,” said Peter. “Hey, buddy, you know you got a bunch of, like, blisters and shit all over?”

“Yes,” Drax answered and laughed, picking his head up as he did. “Did you witness their destruction? It was _glorious_.”

“Burned those bastards up right quick.”

“Those villainous thieves didn’t see it coming,” Drax answered, and struggled to bring his hand up to wipe his eyes, which were a little glassy.

“Maybe not the best strategy, though, huh?”

“No. Not the best.” Drax leaned on his elbow and surveyed himself, poking some of the red scars across his pecs. It looked like they were mostly unscathed and only the greenish-gray skin on his back had been harmed. Drax tapped a particularly gnarly looking red patch near his shoulder with what looked like a toothy beast reaching for his neck. “It was nothing like defeating the loathsome beast of the Last Cliffs.”

“Yeah?” Peter sat cross-legged and told Drax to lay down while he finished tending to the burns. “Tell me about it.”

Mantis took a seat across from them, drawing her knees up close to her chest as she watched, unblinking but with a small, careful smile on her face. Peter winked as Drax droned on and on about a hunt from his childhood with his father and the other boys of his village.

*

“I…uh. Wow.” Peter unholstered his blaster, checked the cartridges out of habit, and then reholstered it. “Wow,” he said again. “I did _not_ expect the Favorite Prince of Znai to, uh, look? Like that?”

“Oh, yeah, cause we all gotta have the two legs and two arms and the _one_ head, just like all you humies.”

“No,” said Peter down at Rocket, who was picking some of the confetti off his fur. “I didn’t say that. I just meant I hadn’t ever seen anything so…?”

“Grow _up_ , Quill.”

“I’m just _say_ ing.”

“Rocket’s right,” said Gamora, striding to Peter’s side. She had been the one to present the glass case with the Favorite Prince’s meal, much the delight and celebration to everyone there. There had been an Znai band playing fanfare music and everything. The confetti had rained down and Groot got off Rocket’s shoulder, chasing some of the glittering pieces. Gamora had stood stone still through it, holding out the case. She was also the one to collect their units and confirmed the transfer on her data pad. “You should grow up, Peter.”

“Oh come on. Is nobody gonna say it? Honestly?” Peter looked back at the castle behind them with its aquamarine spires and huge vaulted entryways carved with dizzying diamond patterns. “That was clearly…it was _clearly_ …well, you _know_.”

Gamora rolled her eyes. She walked ahead, leading the way back to the launch site where they had parked the Milano. A pinkish sea stretched out around them as far as the horizon, its waves sparkling with the twilight of the two small suns crossing above.

“That man had a striking resemblance to a vagina,” said Drax, coming up from the rear.

“Dude!” Rocket glared up at the hulking destroyer even as Mantis giggled childishly behind her hands. “You don’t gotta just say it like that.”

“Oh my god, _thank you_ ,” said Peter, arms wide in a half-bow towards Drax. “I wasn’t crazy!”

“It was obvious, was it not? That is a common configuration of the—”

“Yeah! We all know what it looks like,” said Rocket as he flailed his arms above his head.

“Do we?” asked Peter skeptically, looking around the ragtag group.

“We do!”

“But _do_ we?” Peter pressed.

“I dunno, Quill, maybe some of us aren’t lucky enough to have gotten up close and personal.”

“Okay.” Drax burst into laughter, pointing even, eyes wide in glee. Mantis bumped into him and quickly joined in. The pointing is what sucked. “Okay, guys. Okay. Come on.”

“If you’re all ready?” Gamora asked by the Milano, the hatch open and a ramp already lined up. “We might get off Znai before the full solstice?” She waved the Guardians up onto the ship, touching Peter briefly on the arm and giving him a pitying smile. “It _has_ been a long time then, hasn’t it?”

“What?” asked Peter, pausing as everyone walked by.

“If you have forgotten simple anatomy, then—”

“Whoa, hey,” said Peter and scoffed. He shrugged out of Gamora’s reach. “I _know_ what it looks like, jeeze.” Then he skidded a little and turned back. “Why? You offering me a lesson?”

“In your dreams, Star Lord,” she answered and sauntered onto the ship.

He watched her go, admiring her in, alright, yes, an absolutely sleazy fashion, but also just for her. All of her. Her languid movements, her perfect control, her everything. He smiled. Of course he smiled. And as he clapped the ramp to retract and closed the hatch, he nodded to nothing in particular and said, “Those dreams, though. You wouldn’t even believe.”

“Now about that vacation that Quill promised,” said Rocket from the ladder up to the cabin.

“Oo, I’ve never had a vacation before,” said Mantis, clasping her hands together in front of her chest.

Nobody decided to comment on that. Groot managed to get out something, but they all ignored it.

“Alright, jerk wads. Where’re we goin’ anyhow?”

“Take us somewhere special,” Rocket yelled back.

Peter almost answered, but he stopped in the cargo hold, looking over at the case of space suits and the “For Emergency Use Only” printed neatly on the display with “(or fun)” scribbled haphazardly beneath hit. He remembered the cold cloying feeling blanket his body as he screamed, literally screamed, feeling himself drain of the flickering energy from that bastard Ego. And the icy hands just barely touch his cheek as Yondu began to freeze solid in front of him. Blood vessels bursting. Eyes frosting over.

Peter didn’t realize he had been holding his breath and he gasped, fist to his chest as he came back to himself. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like, if he lost…. No. No. Peter flicked a hand across the space suit display, pocketing one of the pods out of habit and replacing an old one from his ravager jacket so it could recharge. He usually kept two on his person, sitting next to each other, just in case.

“Quill?” Gamora called from the ladder. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” he answered, forcing himself to breathe normally. He tapped the display again, for good luck, and stomped off towards the cabin. “Yeah, you guys wanna go somewhere special? I got a couple ideas.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like things, when they look like "something" always end up looking like a dick. Let's change things up, people!


	2. Free On My Own Is The Way I Used To Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Guardians find their getaway on a neat little planet with a pretty beach and...is that...spoiler alert...Yondu?

“What is this place?” Drax stood there in the open hatch, shielding his eyes against the bright glare of the sun. “Where have you taken us?”

“Make a better door than a window, dude,” said Peter, squirming to get around him. He tugged at a pair of red shorts, tightening the strings with a quick tug. There was a shirt hanging off a piece in the wall of the Milano, button-down with bright pink and yellow triangles dancing across it. Peter eyed it but decided he’d come all this way, he was gonna work on his tan. “Come on. It’ll be fun. It’s _supposed_ to be fun.”

“I am not a door,” said Drax, but there wasn’t his usual indignation. He lowered his arm, reached for a brightly-woven basket at his side, and hoisted it up onto his broad shoulder. There were a few gnarly-looking fruit heads peeking out of the top, nestled in amongst makeshift beach towels and a small cube Rocket had packed. “Nor a window.”

“That you are not,” said Quill and gripped Drax’s arm appreciatively before he hopped down the Milano’s gangplank. “Come on, guys. I got word it’s migration season for the Huttu’ui and most of the locals are up on the mountain range over there to watch. We got this place to ourselves. We…hello.”

Gamora touched the entryway, her green hand lingering on the frame in an almost compulsive ritual as she exited. Peter stepped out of the way, openly gawking. Not, well, not intentionally openly gawking or anything. He tried to school his features so that the assassin didn’t decide she was entirely put off about all of this and go back inside. It was supposed to be fun for everyone. He closed his mouth, at least.

“Hello,” she said and tipped her head in his direction. “I am also curious as to why you chose this place. There are other common vacation planets that were closer to our region.”

“Well.” Peter’s face flushed a little and he scrubbed the back of his head to hide his embarrassment. “It’s just, you know, somewhere we went, like, one time. When I was…y’know, with Yondu. Or, I mean, the Ravagers, I guess. It was, like _one_ time. But, anyways, it’s really cool and the water is, like, totally swimmable and everything. The sand is so soft. Come here and feel it. It’s nice. Do you, uh, guys, uh, like it?”

Gamora widened her stance, shoulders squared and spine straight as a laser beam as she put her hands on her hips and surveyed the beach. She took appraisal of their surroundings, no doubt clocking any would-be dangers. Peter surveyed her in turn, to her soft dark hair with its magenta highlights to the sensible black swimsuit she must have purchased on their supply run before they came out to Ipsis IV to the….

“Uh, Gamora?” Peter asked, snickering only a little. “You don’t really need the boots for the beach, y’know?”

Gamora looked down at her shoes. She twisted her calf, checking out the ensemble, and shrugged.

“They seem fine to me.”

“H’yeah, alright.” No use in arguing. Peter’s eyebrows leapt up into his hairline before he shrugged too and waved the rest of them to follow him to the shoreline. “This sun ain’t gonna enjoy itself.”

“The sun can shove it where the sun don’t shine,” said Rocket, who scuttled out the Milano in shorts too big, shirt too small, and shades that looked like they belonged to someone twice Quill’s size.

“That doesn’t even make sense,” said Quill.

“Yeah, well.”

“You want, I can carry that stuff for you. You don’t have to—”

“No,” said Rocket, who sounded tired and resigned, like he was the mother of the ship and he was fed up with cleaning all their shit. He shouldered his own bag, groaning from the effort. Rocket’s implants had been acting up since their trip through that solar storm. He claimed he was recovering just fine and everybody could go eat a pile of steaming shit, but he was sluggish and crankier than usual. “I gotta do _everything_ around here.”

“You know you don’t.”

“I do. I gotta do everything. I gotta have everything or else you’d lose yer own head. Admit it. Admit it!”

“I am Groot!”

“He gets it!”

Groot glared up from Rocket’s shoulder, his little chin pointed in equal ire. Peter sighed, swallowing any laughter he might have at Groot’s display. He got plenty of encouragement from Rocket as it was, even if he was being an ass right about now. A stubborn ass to boot. Groot just didn't need to know.

“What does he get?”

Mantis stepped into the light as she folded a big floppy hat over her ears. She had on a cute little swim suit, a one piece in her usual black and green colors that frilled around her waist like a skirt and capped at her shoulders in leaf-like sleeves. She and Gamora had picked up their supplies together. While the two weren’t chummy, shopping had been fun for them, in the very tamest, very reserved way fun could be. Gamora, it was rumored, tried to get her to pick something else out, but Mantis had been drawn to the swim suit immediately. It was the hat that really sold it. The hat was pale, old, wrinkly, but it looked pretty perfect on her. She had wrapped a semi-transparent scarf around her hips and a small leather pouch belted over the top of it. Her smile was big, her eyes were bright, and her antennae peeked around the lip of the hat like two inquisitive eye stalks.

That made Peter laugh.

“What?” she asked, frowning a little at the corners of her mouth. She pulled the hat closer to her cheeks and looked to Drax.

“Nothing,” Quill answered, waving at her. He fiddled with a few round objects and scrolled through the Zune before picking a song by David Bowie that blared through the handheld speakers. The speakers glowed, pulsing with the beat. Quill tossed them into the air, where they hovered obediently, raining tunes on them like a choir of angels. “That should do it, then.”

The beach stretched out along the coast for miles in either direction, cutting into the land in delicate white ribbons, occasionally obscured by the reddish cliffs and the long, loping mountains. The vegetation on Ipsis IV had a more violently blue-teal color to it, softened by mist and the aquamarine waves lapping at the shore. There was a small beach town off a ways with a limited station. They were friendly to the Nova Corp or anyone else that didn’t stir up any trouble. The Milano wasn’t even parked on a proper launch pad, just a low outcropping of rocks nearby. A few other ships hovered in the area and the beach had small groups going up and down the coastline, but everyone was mostly checking out the Huttu’ui in the mountains.

Peter smiled openly and really dug his toes into the sand, leaving behind reddish footprints. The fine white sand only dusted a layer of slightly courser, almost clay-like red. The sand itself wasn’t living, but it settled neatly back into a clean white slate after a minute or two, like it was magnetically drawn. The red stuff was something that would be fun to sculpt into weird alien sand castles once they were all tired of swimming.

“What do you guys think?” he asked.

“I think this will do nicely, yes,” said Gamora, who strolled ahead with Drax and Rocket to pick the perfect spot on the beach. Quill tossed the speaker’s port over to Gamora, who caught it deftly and tucked it away in the loose satchel at her side. The speakers hovered after her, singing away. Peter watched them go. He stood back with Mantis as she ran her hand gently across the sand, raking lines through the red and white soil.

“So how often did, well, You-Know take you off-planet with him?”

“Ego?” Mantis asked, whipping her head up to look at Peter beneath the shade of her floppy hat, her black and green hair framing her delicate face. Peter sighed and dug his toe into the sand again.

“Yeah. Yeah, Ego.”

“I have been on many trips with Ego in the past,” said Mantis as she chewed her words in that practiced way. “He always needed help to sleep once we had located one of his—”

“Yeah, I _got_ that. I meant. Y’know, did he ever, like, take you out? To just, like, see the world and stuff. Worlds. Jeeze, I’m sorry, I—”

“No,” Mantis answered softly. She carved two more lines in the sand with her slender finger. “It is alright. I imagine it to be very awkward to discuss.”

“Nah, you’re not awkward, Mantis.”

“Not for me,” she answered and looked up again, blinking.

“Right. Right.” Peter scratched his scalp again, hunching over as he unintentionally made himself smaller, less threatening. “Right.” He laughed. “You know what, though? Forget it. Forget him. It’s a vacation, right? We’re all here to enjoy ourselves. Every Guardian of the Galaxy is just gonna have some fun and—”

“What in the blue seven hells y’all doin’ here on _my_ damn holiday? Thought I told y’all we was goin’ away fer a _while_. Where’s that boy?”

Peter whipped his head around at the familiar sound. His stomach flipped, either out of old nervous habit or unchecked but somewhat welcomed surprise.

“Yondu?” Peter asked, his face cracked wide in a grin that would be labeled, on most occasions, hysterical. “What the hell’re you guys doin’ here?”

“I already asked that one!” Yondu yelled, storming down the beach with Kraglin in tow.

“Well, it’s not like we did it on purpose,” said Peter, sounding exasperated but hardly looking it. He almost hugged the mean-muggin’ asshole once they reached common ground. He didn’t, that would be too chummy, but any time he set eyes on Yondu, it sort’ve felt like a miracle. “Hey, Kraglin.”

“Hey, Pete,” Kraglin answered with a half-hearted wave.

The Xandarian looked a little crispy, patches of his skin just barely beginning to peel from sunburn. His skinny arms were red in most places, with little patches of black symbols skittering around like an army of ants and a few patches of scars resting on his shoulders. There was an obvious line from his old tank top that must’ve been discarded at their beach spot and a spiderweb of scars across his abdomen. Peter remembered that trip. Poor Xandarian there almost _died_ and it was kinda weird to see it so plainly. Kraglin had a sparrow-thin chest and more tattoos covering his body. Peter didn’t think he ever knew there were that many. It was actually impressive.

Yondu, old bastard, was better prepared. He had on a pair of sensible, hilariously predictable swim trunks, showing off his pale blue calves with those unsightly scars going from his ankles to his kneecaps like a gnarly seam from a pair of tights.  But he had on a ratty gray tank and a loose shirt over the top of that, covering some of the still healing wounds he’d gathered from his quick dip out in the void after they blew up Ego. At least the grayish patches on his face were doing better.

“If you was followin’ me, I said I’d be back in time fer that rendezvous with the Osp. Ye didn’t have to come crashin’ our getaway.”

“I wasn’t crashin’ nothin’,” Peter answered and waved away the sentiment. “We decided we wanted some R and R and I picked this place myself.”

“Why?” Yondu asked, squinting through the glare of the sun. “Cause you was followin’ us, just _admit_ it!”

“No!” Peter pointed at Yondu’s chest, starting to get up in his face. It was almost funny being taller than him, towering over him, but it didn’t feel like a power move so much as standing up to his old man cause he was feeling feisty. He just about jabbed his index finger into Yondu’s chest, but still had better sense not to. “No, I picked this place ‘cause of that time we all came here for my….” Peter swallowed and physically wilted.

“What?” asked Yondu, but Kraglin knew. He snickered, snorting a little into his hand before he recovered. Yondu twisted a little and looked back. “What?”

“Nothing.” Peter stretched out the word, emphasizing every letter available in it. “God. Forget it.”

“No, what?”

“Never mind, just drop it, okay? We’ll take that side of the beach and we’ll just leave you two alone, alright?”

“No,” Yondu snapped. Peter could see that the Yaka arrow wasn’t on him. No holster to keep it with his loose beach attire, so the threat of a whistle didn’t hold much weight. But Yondu didn’t need his arrow to attack. He had those fists of his and they worked just fine. “What’s he talkin’ about, Kraggles?”

“Ah, Quill’s father has returned!” said Drax, coming up on the little group. “Welcome again, blue space man.”

“His name’s Yondu,” yelled Rocket from the little camp they had set up. Rocket was sitting in the sand, his tail twitching back and forth with a mind of its own as he fiddled with the small cube from Drax’s bag. “You know that!”

“I do,” said Drax with a smile. “How are you?”

“No, I’m not lettin’ us get distracted,” said Yondu, hands raised to literally cut the air between them. “What was you talkin’ about before?”

“It was my _birthday_ , okay?” Peter finally yelled, his ears hot pink.

Maybe the fringe of his hair was covering it. God, he hoped it was. More so now that Gamora had decided to step on over and see what the commotion was about. He flattened some of the hair on his forehead, forcing himself to calm down about it. They should just turn up the music or something; that always set his nerves right.

“It was my birthday,” he said more calmly, quietly. He swallowed again to get the tightness out of his voice. “You, Kraglin, and some of the Ravagers were already going this way. Cause you had business or whatever. And I told Kraglin it was my thirteenth birthday and even though _nobody_ remembered, I did, and how it was this big thing back on Earth because it meant I was a teenager, which doesn’t even mean anything when you get to fly a spaceship when you’re ten, but it was still something to hold onto and I was all excited and for some reason you decided I could come with you guys. And we all came here and it was just….” Peter sighed, closing his eyes a second because it was just so goddamn embarrassing to have to tell this story in front of Yondu and all his friends. They didn’t need to know _why_ Ipsis IV was special to him. Except now they did. And they were gonna _laugh._ And it felt so _stupid_. He wanted to melt into the sand. “It was, like, one of the best memories I had from then. And I wanted to share this place with everyone else, okay? Is that so bad?”

Yondu looked between Kraglin and Peter. His former first mate gave a noncommittal shrug, but Yondu glared him down before he finally conceded that, yes, he remembered when Pete had his birthday and remember how he’d done and convinced his captain to take ‘em all down to Ipsis IV, before they had that run-in at the Steel Rider with the Matron. They’d come during the twilight and camped out on the beach cause they was waiting for a fuel tankard to come into port and it was all they had ‘till they could go home, but nobody said nothin’ about that to the kid, since he seemed to be in such a good mood.

“And we didn’t even spend a unit at the Steel Rider that trip or nothin’,” said Kraglin, “so I ain’t even sure why the kid was so excited.”

“Nah,” said Yondu, warming up a little. “I get it.”

He hooked Peter in a surprisingly strong arm, wrenching him down as he patted him on the chest in a genial sort.

“You do?” Peter asked, only half-struggling to get free.

“Sure,” said Yondu. “You always been soft.”

Yondu jabbed Quill in the ribs, a playful one-two, before he ruffled Peter’s hair and let him go, barking out his distinctive laugh. The others joined, some more rambunctious than the others. Didn’t take long for play fighting to spread. It was quick and dirty, just like the Ravagers used to do on the ship, riling each other up. Nobody took on Yondu, who stepped back to the edge of the group to catch his breath; something everybody did their best to avoid commenting on. Mantis stood next to him, hands folded plaintively in front of her as she stared on in open horror.

“Why are they fighting?”

“They’re playing, girl,” said Yondu with one hand on his chest. “It’s just for fun. See?”

Drax was booted in the chest by the only one insane enough to wear boots to the beach. Gamora stood over him even as he dissolved into laughter again. Groot, who had left Rocket with the little campsite, raced across the sand. He tripped, rolled, and got back on his feet with surprising speed just so he could whip Drax on the arm with all the annoyance a fly is to a giant.

“Where you guys staying?” Peter asked, slipping out of Kraglin’s chokehold easier than he did when he was a kid. “Why don’t you join us?”

“Cause this was supposed to be a getaway,” Kraglin answered and swung, hard, missing completely. Peter laughed and dodged another blow. “Emphasis. On. _Away_.”

“Ah hells, Kraggles,” said Yondu, “we already been away. Might as well join up with them.”

Kraglin turned to argue and got barreled in the back, landing hard in the sand. Peter, once he was on his feet, saw the look on Kraglin’s face and took off for the water fast as he could, the Xandarian hot on his heels.

“Yeah,” said Yondu with an appreciative nod. “Exactly like it used to be.” _Like it should be_ , he thought and smiled, reserved, closed-lipped. He looked over at Mantis and jerked his chin in her direction. “Come on. Help me get our stuff and bring it over. And, hey, rat!”

“Yeah, ya blue idiot?” Rocket asked from his seat.

“You comin’ or what?”

“I’m gonna pass.”

“You ain’t gonna help out an old friend?”

Rocket looked up and smiled as he flipped a button. The contraption bloomed, spreading out on the sand as a clean cool floor bubbled up, revealing chairs enough for all of them, a small chest cool enough to hold their food, and a crystalline-looking umbrella spreading above them to shade them from the sun. Rocket reclined in one of the chairs, sinking into it slowly. It helped ease some of the pain screaming through his joints.

“Yeah,” he said at last, voice strained like he was stepping into a hot tub. “I’m good, old man.”

Yondu flicked his tongue against his teeth but wasn’t about to argue. Instead, he pointed at Groot in the sand. “Hey twig. You up for helping?”

“I am Groot.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“How far does your invitation extend?” asked Gamora, who finally took her foot off Drax’s chest.

“Far as it’ll go, Missy,” Yondu answered. Gamora tightened her features but she followed along, Drax right behind them and Groot scurrying to get into Yondu’s shadow. Kraglin and Peter were doing their level best to kill each other out in the water. It’d be fun to see who came out the victor when they got back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. I'm stealing from myself for Ipsis IV and the matron at the Steel Rider and  
> 2\. You know damn well Kraglin would try to kill Peter if he got tackled in the sand. Look into your heart. You know it's true and  
> 3\. Yes, the titles of the chapters are from Fooled Around and Fell In Love. Congrats! You get this cookie, which is actually just a manifestation of my love.


	3. It used to be when I'd see a girl that I liked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beach shenanigans at it again. Bring in a stranger to really start up some stuff. And, lo and behold, is Mantis branching out? Chatting people up? Having a gay old time?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally had this chapter titled "Something something Star Lord." Is that important to the story? Not at all, I just wanted you to know.

“Hold up, man, he’s gone. He’s gone!” Quill figured the whole tough-guy act would drop as soon as Yondu wasn’t watching, but he threw his hands up in the air, taking a blow to his forearms instead of his face as Kraglin swept his legs out from under him. This was no easy task in the waves, but Kraglin didn’t do anything the easy way. Quick, sure. Dirty, absolutely. Guy would punch you in the nuts as a means to an end, so Peter should be thankful. Salty waves crashed overhead and they turned in the surf before Peter found his bearings again, leaping out of reach. “Easy! Hey. Hey, Kraglin!”

“What?” Kraglin breached the water, whipping his short, sort've scraggly gray Mohawk outta his eyes, fists clenched tight in front of him and face fixed in a mean goddamn scowl. When he spoke, it cracked like a whip and Peter actually took a step back.

“Okay, so that ain’t playin’ there anymore, is it?” Peter held his hands up in supplication. “What’s wrong, man?”

Kraglin’s face went through several resplendent emotions, folding around in pinches, scowls, twists of his mouth and nose as he sorted through his thoughts. But before he could voice what was fueling him so, he scrubbed some of the surf outta his eyes and headed back towards land.

“No, wait, come on.” Peter reached out to grab his arm, caught his shoulder just by a hair, only to have Kraglin wheel about with his fist raised again. Peter shrank back and showed he meant no harm. “Dude! Whoa! I’m not…I’m not gonna _fight_ , okay?”

“Sure won’t,” said Kraglin, his voice breaking just a little around the edge. When he spoke, that crooked Adam’s apple of his bobbed up and down dramatically. “Cap’n’s right ‘n’ all. Yer _soft_.”

“Knock it off with the ‘soft’ bullshit,” said Peter. He reached again, but Kraglin managed to knee him in the gut. Peter doubled, holding his stomach as he tried to get his breath back. Perfect hit. Pretty much like always.

“We was fine. First time we gotta really _talk_ and damn you if you think I ain’t had to apologize for it all. I plucked yer sorry asses outta the void, but you think that covered what I done, then yer dense as black matter. I gotta lick boot, I’m gonna lick that fuckin’ boot. And then you and yer shiny new family come and ruined it all,” said Kraglin, standing over Peter, seething. Really getting into his face. The Xandarian was _pissed_. “Well, I ain’t got that no more. After what I done and…with the mutiny. I lost…damn near everyone.”

Kraglin made a small, almost choking sound before he decked Peter again, just the one in the face and not with any real force behind it neither. Kid was already down; no use in beating a dead whatever-it-was-called. Terran beast. Got them four legs and the shiny hair. Orus? Something.  Kraglin snorted in annoyance as he trudged on back towards the beach.

“Yer…family,” Peter said through a moan, but Kraglin was already at the shoreline. So Peter cradled himself and got out “A-hole” before he went back to the beach himself.

“Hey,” said Kraglin, who had let all that fire out when they were wrestling in the water and stood like he was as harmless as a flea. He had his hands on his skinny hips and flicked an elbow out across the sand. “Who’s yer bug friend talkin’ to?”

“Whuh-hut?”

Peter coughed into his fist. He was fine, really. So, okay, so Kraglin got in a few good moves. He just hadn’t been aware how hard they were going that time. It’s not like Kraglin was always going to win in a legit fight. Right? No, Peter forced himself to stand up straight once he was there by Kraglin cause he wasn’t about to get kowtowed by the guy who’d been helping kick his ass and train him basically all his life. He pursed his lips and shielded his eyes against the sunlight.

“No, wait, who is that?” asked Peter, already letting the incident go, honestly. Really. _Really_.

“Looks like she’s made a friend,” said Kraglin, who stuck out his neck like some chicken once he clocked Yondu and crew coming back down the beach with their stuff. Kraglin took off without a word, marching down the sand to help in any way he could.

“Dude,” said Rocket from his chair, peeling back the purple and gold skin of a Ygax plup.

“What?” asked Peter.

“He kicked yer ass.”

Peter rolled his eyes as Rocket snapped back the thick skin and started digging into the soft creamy meat of the fruit. It wasn’t pungent, but the delicate perfume was enough to make Peter’s mouth water.

“Yeah, well,” said Peter at last, just short of licking his lips. “Maybe I let him.”

“You didn’t. Dude kicked yer ass fair and square, I saw.”

“This comin’ from the guy who can’t tell his left eye from his right.”

“Okay, but he had you good, Star Munch.”

“Leave it,” said Peter, who almost let “raccoon” slip out before he caught it behind his teeth. Rocket was right and it sucked to even think it, but just because he was being his usual dickish self didn’t mean Peter had to sink to the sort’ve level of name calling. Even though it was _so_ goddamn easy. “Just save me a plup, okay?”

“Sure.” Rocket’s toes gripped Drax’s woven bag to check on their supply, pulling it towards him. He leaned over and counted to himself. “Yeah, we should have plenty. Where you goin’ anyways?”

“Mantis is talking to strangers,” said Peter, who started jogging over to the group. When Rocket gave a _so what_ shrug, Peter shouted, “It’s Mantis, dude.”

“Yeah, alright.” Rocket shoved his muzzle into the fruit again, scraping a long line out between the folds of the skin. He mumbled out “be safe” around the fruit, knowing Star Lord over there wouldn’t hear him anyways.

*

The sand was soft, as promised, like silk that tickled the bottom of her feet, or like the careful structures littering the desert-like land of the planet she called home since she was a larva. It was not a fair comparison, for one was created solely from the imagination of the celestial who she had called Master while the other was a perfectly natural phenomenon, and it was harder still to decide which she physically enjoyed better. The soft sand was delicate, pristine, and outlined lovely shapes when she ran her finger across it, while Ego’s planet had been all she’d known and all she’d known to love, so it was hard to let go. Mantis, despite this internal inquiry, raked her finger through the delicate white particles and smiled as she drew a rudimentary face that might be a mirror of her own.

“Oh, you draw?”

Mantis withdrew her hand up to her chest, crouched in a protective shell around her organs as someone intruded on her solitude. She looked over at the person, who smiled with easy grace. It was not well practiced, of course, but Mantis felt herself crack open with the same expression, far easier than she had before. She was learning quickly. The joy at her quick display of emotion made her laugh a little.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” said the stranger, a tall alien with a sleek skeletal structure and well-toned muscles atop. She cocked her muscular hip against a smooth red ball pinned there by her forearm. The swimming suit she wore was tight, almost a second skin across her own, leaving little to the imagination. Though, what that imagination might entail, Mantis wasn’t entirely sure.

“I am not scared,” Mantis answered and brushed a strand of hair off her cheek. She looked down at the sand, which was already starting to skitter back into place, erasing her simple drawing.

“You sure aren’t,” said the stranger. Again with the easy smile. Between _both_ of them, Mantis noted. She felt her cheeks heat up and tugged down at the hat to make certain it was protecting her from the rays of the sun. “You didn’t go up to check out the migration with all the other tourists?”

Mantis looked over at the mountain range, eyebrows curling downward by increments before she looked up at the stranger.

“No,” she said slowly, and pouted around the rest of her question, “but should I have?”

“Darling, you do what you like.”

Mantis laughed at that and touched her hair again, feeling another short surge brush her cheeks. She imagined she glowed, much like her antennae glowed when she was engorged on any one particular emotion.

“I’m Abar,” said the stranger, and quickly thrust out her hand, a common offering to shake it as a greeting. She had painted her nails sunburst yellow, and they made her reddish skin appear more tan. A ring of blue was tattooed around her slender index finger and ran up her forearm, hooping around a small symbol close to her wrist. Mantis stared at it openly before she looked up at Abar’s big black eyes. “Abarnatasi, if you’d like, but that’s a mouthful.”

“Abarnatasi,” said Mantis, enjoying the feel of the name on her tongue. She rose quickly, dusted her knees, and reached out to take Abarnatasi's hand as it was offered. “I’m—”

“Mantis!” Peter Quill ran up, kicking streaks of red across the sand in his wake, panting a little. He was wet from head to toe, and the white sand dusted up his shins. “Hey! Who’s, uh,” and he gulped obscenely as he tried to catch his breath. “Who’s yer friend?”

“This your boyfriend?” Abarnatasi asked, eyeing Peter up and down. She shifted the red ball from one hip to the other and unconsciously or not flexed her arms a little, as though for a show of strength.

“Boyfriend?” Peter asked and laughed, doing his usual aloof “head-scratch” stance whenever he felt awkward or embarrassed. “No. No, Mantis is, like, she’s like my sister. Right?”

“Sister?” Mantis felt her heart tremble at the thought of being considered so highly amongst her new friends that she might be elevated to a familial status. She grinned so hard it showed off most of her teeth and pinched the corner of her eyes.

“Yeah, sister,” said Peter, rolling along with it. Then he asked, as he bumped into her hip with his own, “So, who’s your friend, _sis_?” The contact was brief, but Mantis was able to pick up apprehension, suspicion, inquisition, regret, fear. He cared. Deeply, it seemed. He was also attracted to this Abarnatasi, but that was not a surface emotion, that was a second thought, a passing biological reaction.

“She is named Abarnatasi, but has given me permission to call her Abar,” said Mantis, immediately folding her hands in front of her as she did whenever she gave a report. “I have only just met her.”

“Yeah,” said Abarnatasi, looking between them. She nodded, once, and finally winked over at Mantis before she extended her hand again. This time the line that was tattooed around her finger and up to her forearm was a soft pink color, like petals of a flower. Mantis tilted her head at the sight of it. “Like she said. Abarnatasi. Call me Abar.”

“Abar,” said Peter and shook Abarnatasi’s hand, giving it a quick pump up and down. “I’m Peter. People call me Star Lord.”

“Star Lord?” she asked, not like the name meant anything to her; more that it was a joke. Mantis did not think that her brother Star Lord was a joke. She crossed her hands more, entwining her fingers as she tried to read their new friend. “Is that…Ravager Star Lord? You Yondu’s kid?”

“You know Yondu?” Peter laughed, still pumping her hand up and down with his own.

“Yeah!” Abarnatasi’s stiff frame relaxed and she stepped closer, tossing her ball up in the air and catching it in the next breath. “My Ma used to run a joint here. We did trade a couple of times, if I remember, and he helped with the Kree Slavers who were takin’ some of the girls back during Tortak. How is that old blue bastard?”

“Still kickin’,” said Peter and laughed. “He’s here, too, if you wanna join us?”

Abarnatasi looked over at Mantis again, her smile curling up higher on one side, the same she used to wink the first time. There were adorable dimples pressed into her cheeks. Mantis glanced away, holding her hands, and tried to train her antennae to stop glowing so brightly.

“Only if this pretty little lady joins,” said Abarnatasti with a not-so-subtle bite of her lip. Mantis looked down at the sand.

“Duh,” said Peter, completely ignorant of the exchange. “Come on, we got a camp set up over here and everything. And tell me you’ve been playing Vedder ball.”

Abarnatasi tossed the ball up again, higher this time, so high that the sun obscured it and they squinted at the sky before Abarnatasi leapt over Peter’s head, clearing him in a single bound and catching the ball with the top of her foot, hooking into the ground and catching it again as it bounced up. Peter recovered quickly, whooping at Abarnatasi’s impressive acrobatics.

“I got four goal sensors on me if you can rustle up some opposers,” said Abarnatasi, twirling the ball on her outstretched finger, her tattoo a delightful yellow before she bounced the ball between her elbows, the top of her head, and finally down towards the sand, where she stood atop it victorious. She glanced back over at Mantis, her breathing schooled, her smile genuine.

“Yeah, I can…hey, Drax! Gamora!” Peter pointed down the beach as Drax the Destroyer set down what appeared to be a giant body-length crate in the sand next to Rocket’s campsite. “Hey, come play ball with my new friend here!”

Mantis felt her throat squeeze a little at Peter’s proclamation. It was in fact Mantis who had first befriended Abarnatasi, and she felt something rise from her stomach at the thought of Peter taking all her attention away. This was a somewhat foreign feeling, one that she had little use for under Ego’s command. Mantis swallowed her jealousy and stepped back a little, bowing her head.

Gamora waved at the group, taking a chair in the shade of Rocket’s umbrella and retrieving one of the plups to feed from. Peter’s shoulders sagged at Gamora’s dismissal.

“C’mon, Gamora, it’ll be fun!” Peter yelled, but it appeared that Gamora was not in the mood.

“I accept your challenge,” said Drax, lumbering across the sand. “Explain your rules quickly so I may best you in combat.”

“It’s not combat,” said Peter. “Dude, you never played Vedder ball?”

“We do not have this Riken ball on my home planet.”

“That’s _not_ what I said. No, it’s Vedder ball. Vedder. Named after the Harlaxian Ukili “Redder” Vedder? Best damn sportsman in, like, seven quadrants around—”

“Is Riken ball like the sport we attempted during our stay on Pshok?”

“That's not what it's called!. Listen. It’s—”

“Hey,” said Abarnatasi, stepping over towards Mantis with her smooth red ball back in hand. “Why don’t you play with us?”

“Oh,” said Mantis, and shrank a little, holding her elbows as she did. “I do not know the rules and I am not certain if you—”

“I’ll go easy on ya,” said Abarnatasi. She nudged Mantis in the shoulder, a common expression to egg someone on, but her warm skin glanced off Mantis’s and she stiffened at the contact, absorbing the quick fluttery feeling before it had a chance to escape in the air. “Come on,” said Abarnatasi, and smiled. “It’ll be fun. We’ll wipe the floor with these guys.”

Mantis rubbed the spot on her shoulder and smiled, her heart beating hard in her chest, mirroring the same delightful flirtation she had felt zip across Abarnatasi during the brief contact.

“Yes,” said Mantis, her mouth feeling a little numb. “Yes, I would like that.”

“Y’hear that, boys? Yer sister wants to play. Let’s play!”

“Mantis?” Peter asked. He turned and saw her holding her shoulders and the now obvious blemish or blush in her cheeks. Peter shrugged lazily and said, “Yeah. That works for me. If you’re sure.”

“I am, yes,” said Mantis eagerly, and followed Abarnatasi and the others as the only two who had played this Vedder sport explained the rules.

*

“What’re they doing?” Yondu asked, falling heavily into one of the seats nearby.

“Playing a damn fool of a game,” Rocket answered, dropping a third peel onto the ground next to him. He burped appreciatively and licked some of the juice still there on the fur of his muzzle. “They made a friend.”

“Yeah?” Yondu peered across the sand, glaring at the stranger. “We know that gal?”

“I don’t,” said Rocket. “Not a damn clue, man.”

“I ain’t talkin’ to you,” said Yondu, and waved over at Kraglin, who took a spot on the seat, perched ever so carefully so the whole thing didn’t flip over. Yondu put a hand on Kraglin’s thigh, the two sort’ve leaning into one another.  Had no sense of propriety anymore, it seemed. Didn't have a contingency of Ravager bastards to point and laugh at 'em, so they thought they could just fawn over each other like two sick love birds. Gross. Rocket made a noise, more annoyance than disgust, as he didn’t care much of who did what to who, long as everyone involved was happy about it. He was still feeling off and wanted a long damn nap till all his joints were right as rain. “She look familiar to you?”

“Familiar? Sir, she’s Ipsision. They all kinda look familiar.”

“Nah, we know that gal,” he said, and pointed a stubby finger towards the group. “Bet my life on it.”

“Only one we really know is the matron over at—”

Kraglin and Yondu exchanged a look. The blue bastard was getting out of his chair as Kraglin argued “—sir, don’t, it ain’t even a problem if they don’t recognize us! Sir!”

“You need to go get your boyfriend before he gets his head shot off,” said Rocket and adjusted the goofy oversized shades on his face. Kraglin huffed and took off after his captain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha, god, I love Mantis so much, you guys. Gonna get herself a crazy tough girlfriend, just watch.


	4. Let's Play Ball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's all fun and games until somebody gets a ball thrown into their face. Don't worry, guys, their nose isn't broken. Promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on this, I was trying to figure out how to get from playing ball to what happens at the end. It's all coming together. Because you thought this would just be a fun vacation? Well, so did I, but then Yondu decided he recognized that gal and I GUESS it kinda got away from me. So I wrestled it to the ground. Yahoo!

“Oh! Count it, Slow Poke, because that was a solid hit!”

“I call foul,” said Abarnatasi as she snaked the red ball from Peter’s hands. He balked, stretching his arms out like a pair of wings.

“Uh, _what_?”

“Yeah,” she said and skipped across the sand to the hovering goal post in her quadrant, the green and blue discs vibrating at her arrival. “You tipped the guster.”

“No. No, I absolutely did _not_ ,” said Peter, who was standing in the center of their playing field. “That was a solid run. Drax, come on, whadya think?”

“Tipped the guster, and I’m not even going to call your elbows when you ran your opposer.”

“Oh my god, elbows? What is this, professional regulations? It was an inch. Inch and a half. Maybe.”

“Either take the foul or we dock three for the oppose,” said Abarnatasi with a shrug. She nodded over at Mantis, lifting the ball as a warning before she tossed it in a fluid arc. “That fair?”

“From my understanding of the rules, yes,” said Mantis, and caught the ball easily. The athletics of the game was quite stirring, and Mantis was absolutely glowing with the glee of exerting herself. She checked the ball against her own goal posts before she kicked it back into play.

“Mantis, you’re on my side!” Peter yelled before they dove into madness.

The four slipped into action immediately. Drax was a natural opposer with his size and strength, and he ran defensive moves, skating around Peter in an almost liquid dance—though Drax would be first to say it was no dance, it was purely fitness and it was glorious. Mantis had a harder time tracking Abarnatasi, who could leap clear across the field in a single bound when she felt it prudent. It took great effort, so she only used it a few times. Now that she was slowing down, Mantis could actually catch up and would often spear her hands around the woman, glancing off her shins or forearms whenever she tried to snatch the ball back. The two women laughed, fighting valiantly in the name of recreational sport, circling closer as they did so. Each casual touch was another surge of adrenaline. Mantis felt she might soon be able to clear the field in a single bound as well.

The group was well into their game when the others decided to join. Mantis saw Yondu and Kraglin running over, with Kraglin pulling on Yondu’s forearm and trying to drag him back to the campsite where Gamora and Rocket sat, apparently relaxing and enjoying the game. It would be better if Yondu rested. Mantis knew this. The others clearly felt the same. Despite his gruff exterior, he was so very tired. One did not need empathic abilities to note his bruised eyes, the sluggish swing of his arms, or the way his occasionally stepped aside to catch his breath. The time he had spent out in the void had done it’s damage. He might recover completely if he allowed himself the rest.

“Mantis!” Drax yelled as the red ball sailed straight for her head. She turned into it, more as a reaction to his voice than the potential threat, and met the ball with her face. “That was Peter!”

“Dude!” Peter yelled as Mantis crumpled to the ground.

“Hey!” Abarnatasi yelled, but Mantis watched the red ball bounce away, gripping her face as a hot spike bloomed from her nose.

The pain was not so great as to incapacitate. To say she had suffered worse would be both true and an unnecessary detail as she pressed her fingers into the stinging center of pain radiating from her nose. She thought back to those other times with something akin to fondness. Fondness that this was much less than that. A give and a take, as it were.

“Ah, jeeze, Mantis! You okay?”

“It would have been better to catch it with your tiny hands, Manits.”

“Drax, shut _up_ , man.”

Peter and Drax ran over and it appeared a crowd was forming, one that brought with it embarrassment. Mantis did not wish to appear this weak. She looked up in time to see Kraglin hook his arm through Yondu’s, standing at the edge of their little sport arena. Yondu was coughing a stringy, wheezy cough into his forearm. It was better that the Xandarian was there to care for him. And it was better that it was not Peter nor Drax who got to Mantis’s side first, but instead the delightful Abarnatasi who knelt there.

“You okay?” asked Abarnatasi, reeling back when Mantis removed her hand to show a steady stream of blood snaking from her nostrils. “ _H’th’ta kal_.”

“It appears worse than it is,” Mantis said and cupped her hand back under nose to stem some of the blood flow.

“Appears? Darling, that idiot brother of yours done broke your pretty little nose.”

“He did not,” said Mantis, her voice all nasally behind her cupped hand. She smiled despite the blood. It painted her teeth and she licked it away. Brother. Peter was her _brother_ , and this woman thought so too. Delightful. Mantis poked at her nose tenderly. “It is not broken. Truly.”

“Well, if you’re so sure,” said Abarnatasi, gently touching Mantis’s cheek with a long stroke of her thumb. Her brows furrowed a moment and she kept her hand on Mantis’s face. “Wow. You’re burning up.”

“Oh?” Mantis asked, and jerked out of Abarnatasi’s reach. She was not sure she had ever felt someone think of herself in that fashion before and the rush through her bloodstream made her head feel light. “It was perhaps the sport that has done it. Invigorating.”

“Yer telling me.” Abarnatasi smirked. Her tattoo along her wrist was practically glowing a bright, fiery red. Mantis could still feel Abarnatasi’s thrilling desire spike her throat. Disgust, too, at the blood, but that was buried deeper, quieter. One might say it was more concern than disgust, if one were meant to decipher and sift through the proper emotions. “Hey,” said Abarnatasi. “She says her nose ain’t broken.”

“Well thank goodness for that,” said Peter as he skidded to Mantis’s side. “You sure? Here, let me look.”

“No, it is fine!” she said and swatted his hand away. He dodged her without effort and cradled her chin as he checked her nose. Peter cared deeply. Genuinely. She smiled at his touch, even if she did not enjoy being fawned over so. “Please, it is only a little sore.”

“Should do something about the bleeding, I s’pose,” said Peter, more to himself. “You sure you’re alright?”

“Yes,” said Mantis, a little more insistently. “I am fine. I promise.”

“I bet Rocket’s got a first aid kit. Come on.”

“But—” Mantis started to protest, but Peter hooked her under the arm and started leading her back towards the campsite. She started to complain more, as much as Mantis dared complain at all, but Drax and, more importantly, Abarnatasi took up post next to them, insisting the game was dragging on anyways and that they could use a break. “We were close to a…a-a grist?”

“Grop,” said Abarnatasi and smiled. “Who cares. We pulled some great plays.”

“Yeah, Drax was going to pile drive me into the dirt,” said Peter, holding Mantis’s arm, a platonic hand on her waist as they travelled back to the campsite. He looked up to see Yondu and Kraglin still there at the edge. “Hey! You guys came to watch?”

“Like hell we did,” Yondu said gruffly. He had mostly gotten control of himself and had pushed away from Kraglin, straightening out his outfit. Peter’s heart thrummed with a blue energy, a remorseful feeing that he covered by laughing again. Mantis felt herself gripping his forearm tighter as way of consolation. “Who’s yer friend?”

“Like father like son,” said Abarnatasi into Mantis’s ear, chuckling behind her hand. Mantis dug her fingernails into Peter’s forearm.

“Hey.” Peter grabbed Mantis’s hand. “You okay?”

“Oh, yes,” Mantis answered, coming back to herself again. “I am sorry.”

“Don’t even sweat it. Come on. Hey, Yondu! I know you said you didn’t, but did you see that play? It was pretty sweet, wasn't it’”

“Yeah, sure,” said Yondu, and waved his hand to show he didn’t care one bit. Kraglin rolled his eyes and kicked at the sand in front of him, huffing at nothing but the bubbling jealousy in his chest or perhaps the misplaced anger at Star Lord.

“Yondu Udonta.” Abarnatasi hopped over to the Centaurian Ravager and quickly extended her hand, the tattoo an inky black line up her wrist. “A pleasure to be sure.”

“Sure,” Yondu answered, glancing at the hand without taking it.

Centaurians were known for some empathic abilities as well, well-tuned when one is physically fit and completely in-tact. Perhaps Yondu’s abilities were dampened when his fin was removed and the nodules carved out of his skull that would amplify this natural gift. Mantis understood that he was somewhat castrated from his natural talent, but was able to detect a small fraction of what others felt. He bristled visibly, running his tongue across his teeth before he looked over at Kraglin. Something unsaid between the two. Mantis’s stomach dropped.

“Your boy is a hell of a baller, Captain Udonta,” said Abarnatasi. She retracted her hand without making it obvious or awkward.

“He should be,” said Yondu without change in tone or stance. “Gotta be good for something.”

“Jeeze, thanks,” said Peter lightly, letting the sentiment slide off easily. “Listen, whatever, but can we just take care of Mantis first? Huh? She clubbed her nose pretty damn good.”

“You were the one who threw the ball,” said Drax, bringing up the rear.

“Yeah, I know. Just. You know.”

“What?” asked Drax.

Peter leaned over towards Drax and said through clenched teeth, “Drop it, dude.”

“Drop what?” asked Drax, looking down at his empty hands.

Peter made several jerking motions with his eyebrows, tilting his head in a comical display in a motion directed towards Gamora. Mantis flattened her hand across his forearm as he walked her over to the cool shade and drank up the feelings Peter had for the beautiful assassin. There was a core of burning love, sexual, sensual, playful, and longing. It extended through him in great waves. Peter was well schooled in controlling his urges when it came to the family, but only when it was the entire group together. He laughed, he flirted, but he did not tap into that radiant sun of love that sat at the center of his being. It was exhilarating. It made Mantis feel almost dizzy. Gamora was an absolutely stunning woman, she would not argue with that, and so the obvious lust was almost appropriate, but it was everything around that as well that made her stomach jitter, just like it did when she glanced over at Abarnatasi. And then she did glance over. Mantis smiled and tuned away too quickly, almost burying herself in Peter’s arm.

“He got you good, Bug Brains,” said Rocket.

“Well, not on purpose,” said Peter, who was crouched in front of Mantis, looking up at her earnestly. “I swear.”

“I know,” Mantis said. She smiled, showing off the bloody teeth, and quickly covered them with her hand again when she registered that Peter was someone disgusted by her appearance. This was fair. Drax had proven to her many times that she was an unsightly thing. That is perhaps why they were so honestly helpful with her, but this did not explain Abarnatasi’s feelings. The woman did not understand beauty, then.

The temperamental puppy-creature rummaged through his rucksack, looking for a basic aid applicator. He tossed it to Peter, who caught it deftly and slapped the tube against his hand a few times until it was pulsing a soft blue.

“Should be nice and cold,” said Peter and spread an icy gel across the bridge of Mantis’s nose. It was indeed very cool, jolting almost, before it tingled and spread through the capillaries across her face, mending the damage as it numbed the pain. “How’s that, huh? Better?”

“Much,” said Mantis, smiling again, giggling at the sensation washing across her face.

“Good,” said Peter, and he meant it.

When he was certain that Mantis was tended to, he hopped back to his feet and went to stand between Gamora and Yondu, regaling them with their unusual plays on the court. He was quite animated, spreading his hands and waving them in dramatic arcs. The two were mildly interested. Gamora gave him eye contact, Yondu an ear, and Kraglin peeled a fruit before handing a slice of meat off for Yondu to chew before he took his own bite. They fell into their rolls of actor and audience with ease.

She looked up again to see that their newest friend Abarnatasi was no longer standing around with the group. The tight pinch at the corner of her mouth must have been enough to signal to Drax her displeasure, and he looked up as well to see where Abarnatasi may have run off to.

“…and then, right, we did this one kick move, which was totally sick, like, I didn’t know if I was going to clear Drax while he was—”

“Your new friend left,” said Rocket, seeing the look shared between Drax and Mantis. He had Groot up on the seat with him and was playing a very rudimentary maze game on a holoprojection set on the chair between their knees. Groot slapped at the little insect images, moving them around the maze with great dexterity. “Yeah, saw her duck out soon as Mantis had her nose patched.”

“Why?” Peter asked, wheeling about. Gamora bristled, but when she glanced around their perimeter, she settled back into her chair, draping one booted leg across the other. There was a datapad on her lap and she swiped through, reading something encrypted in an old language most of them could not even pretend to read.

“Should I have asked?” Rocket twisted the maze so Groot could grab several ruby-colored bugs out of the corner and toss them up into the maze again. “Cause she went out in a hurry.”

“What? Yes, you should have. We were all having a great time. I don’t understand.”

“Ah, let her go,” said Yondu, and sat down in the chair with Kraglin, flopping onto Kraglin’s gangly legs with a contented sigh. “We don’t need any strangers when we’ve got ourselves.”

“Yeah,” said Kraglin, staring at the knife in hand as he handed Yondu another fruit to eat. The Centaurian took it from Kraglin’s hand with his teeth and chewed, smiling out at the waves of the ocean. “Got ourselves.”

“Sure,” said Peter. He glanced down at Mantis, who had physically wilted at the news of Abarnatasi’s departure. He did not know the feelings shared between the two, but he was at least cognizant that Mantis was feeling put out. “Ah, that’s okay. Hey, we still got some tunes we haven’t heard yet. Let’s see what I can pull up on this.”

Peter grabbed the hovering bundle that housed the Zune and began wheeling through the songs, trying to find something appropriate to blast over the speakers that bobbed beneath the umbrella like two persistent flies.

*

“Can you confirm?”

“I can confirm,” Abarnatasi answered, sliding the round up on her triclonion partilyzer. The chambers clacked into place like a songbirds whistle. “Bounty will be more than enough to pay off the Tortak and get the place up and running.”

“We chip in the others, we can pay everyone from this season’s migration to the next.”

“Hey, I only said I was doing the blue guy. You want to tangle with the others, be my guest,” said Abarnatasi. Her legs were screaming from having to leap a hundred meters to get away from the campsite in the sand in the first place. She had perched herself on one of the crates, resting until they started their ambush. Took a lot of work jumping that much. If the twins wanted to argue a moment, that was fine. Gave her time to rest.

“I maybe will tangle.”

“Tango, darling, tango. That’s how we say it.”

“Tangle sounds more appropriate now.”

Abarnatasi looked at the readouts spread across the table. Each of the aliens at that campsite had something listed beneath their name. Records, warrants, pardons, casual bounties and serious ones too. They weren’t above taking anybody to the Kree. Not when it meant getting the family name back and returning their house to its former glory. Maybe her mother died with nothing, but Abarnatasi could get the Steel Rider back and run it right.

There was one display, small, with hardly any information on it. She had not been running with them long and little had been accrued in ways of bounties for her. Abarnatasi touched the corner of the display and spun it closer, enhancing those soft features, those beautiful eyes.

If she looked, she’d see her mark was black with fear, the symbol that read her like a book spinning into the word for remorse. The Tortak had branded a bunch of them with those empath codes so none of the merchandise could lie. It would’ve been easier to just cover the thing, long sleeves, bracelet, whatever. But Abarnatasi wasn’t a coward. The mark never said it and she was never going to give it a chance to do so.  But she was going to be sad. Sure. She could be sad. That Mantis girl had been a real beauty. Sweet. Naïve to a fault, honestly. _H’th’ta kal_ , it was a real damn shame. Another life, maybe, and they could have seen where that love would’ve taken them.

“You ready?” Abarnatasi asked, watching the others in her crew for a sign that they might step out, give up, quit on her and her stupid dream.

There were five others, Ja F with poisoned needles he pulled straight from his own forearms, Kipsi covered in blades hidden away in secret pockets sewn into her clothes, Hemlo the muscle, Hemla the dancer, and First Chor, a mute. It was a good crew. Been together their whole lives, honestly, after they’d been rescued from the Tortak. And maybe they would have looked more kindly on Yondu Udonta, who saved all them girls from the Kree back in the day, but Abarnatasi and her friends weren’t around during the Kree slavers. They weren’t around even when the Steel Rider had first done deals with the Eclector and her crew. They only knew of the destruction that came from the Tortak, those bastards who were squeezing out all the whore houses from Ipsis IV to Ecloria VII. It wasn’t fair. The Tortak thinking they could take whatever they wanted by force, by money, by killing. That’s what outlaws did, sure, but none of this would’ve happened if the Tortak didn’t know the Steel Rider was vulnerable after a certain Ravager crew crippled her. And now, finally, they had the man they deemed responsible.

“Alright,” said Abarnatasi. She poised herself. Her legs weren’t fully up to snuff. She shouldn’t have played so hard, but damn her if she wasn’t competitive. She held up her weapon, checking the mark there with her peripheral. Red. Anger. Righteous fury. Abarnatasi smiled. “Let’s do this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been working on Abarnatasi's story, like, OUTSIDE the GOTG thing I'm putting her into and may some day have a whole novel of her weird crazy adventures. So, is this cheating? Kinda. I'm also kinda accidentally slipping this into my Aim to Fire universe, but, that's okay. We're world building, folks, that's what we do, and it's hella fun.


	5. Just Falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What was it like out in space for you, old man? Cold? Scary? Quiet?
> 
> Anyways, a brief glimpse to why Yondu and Kraglin went on vacation and then onto the action with Abarnatasi and her revenge!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *deep inhale*
> 
> *pause*
> 
> *breaks through the crust of the earth like some dark goblin creature*
> 
> AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! SHE LIVES! Anyways, work has been hectic and life has been hectic and I just wanted to get some gol-dang guardian vacation fics done! So, you know what I did? I put in some WHUMP in this chapter so we can all be in pain. You're. Welcome!

“No! NO! Oh _God_!”

The boy was screaming, hollering like his intestines were being pulled out of his belly by a slow-crankshaft of some twisted music box. He floundered, gripping at Yondu’s stiff arms as the last of the atmosphere was whisked away. Good thing, too. It took away the kid’s voice. Not his pain, no. Not the anguish on his face. And his mouth was still wide, begging through the space suit, clear as day, “NO! NO!” but it didn’t make it across the vacuum of space, thank the stars.

There wasn’t much time left. The freezing cold shocked Yondu to his core and his muscles were twitching, trembling as ice coated his skin, splitting across his craggy hands, rippling in painful patterns over his cheek. Not much time at all. Enough, though. Yondu used the last of his strength to reach up and touch Quill’s face, just like he’d done a hundred times, a _thousand_ times before. Took his boy’s face between his hands, ignoring the bubbly feeling of the space suit and the terrible cold already starting to frost his vision. Didn’t matter. None of it mattered now that Peter was safe.

All these years, all he wanted was to save one. One. Outta all the shit he’d pulled, all the terribleness that’d come into his life, he had his boy. And he’d kept him outta Ego’s hands as long as he did. Sure, when that sonovabitch got Quill, Yondu thought he’d failed and it nearly gutted him, right when he was full up on failure from the mutiny, from losing his fin, everything. But his boy killed that bastard and the evidence that Ego ever existed was disintegrating beneath them. Whatever damage he’d spread across the universe, whatever harm, that would disappear too. All he was now was a collapsing planet gone out like a supernova.. Except Ego didn’t deserve the glory and splendor of a supernova. No, he crumpled up and disappeared like ash on the wind.

Yondu smiled, stiff skin bursting under the ice, his arms going slack as the creeping darkness started to spill in.

So cold.

Something jostled him. Quill’s hands round Yondu’s waist to keep him from floating off more than likely. They turned in their own little orbit, twisting about without any gravity to guide them.

So cold.

So.

Cold.

But his boy was safe. That’s all that mattered. His last effort and probably the best thing he’d ever done. They twisted, dancing-like, lining their sights up so they could get one last look at the jackass beneath them.

Dead planet.

Dead planet, sure, swollen planet, sure, with a face roiling across the surface, eyes lit up blue, and a mouth peeling back.

So.

Ego collecting himself faster and reaching up to pluck Peter back to the surface, like it didn’t even matter.

Cold.

Like nothing he ever did mattered.

So.

Like he’d failed his son again and Ego was back.

Cold.

Ego was back.

Ego was back.

Ego was

*

“ _NO_!”

Yondu sat up, clipped by the long tether of a breather strapped across his face. He struggled with it, ripping it clean off like the thing was a pair of pale plastic hands come to choke him out during the night. A monitor nearby beeped like mad, racing along with his heart as he patted the mattress near him. Soaked. Sheets clung to his pallid skin and he was drenched head to toe in sweat. The space beside him was empty and for a second he weren’t even sure why that scared him so.

The last of the nightmare tickled the edge of his thoughts, a laughing Ego disappearing in the haze as he fully came to. Someone had come up to him and kneeled by his side, clasping his forearm as they tried to replace the breather around Yondu’s face. He jerked away, ready to strike. Had to break out, had to fight, had to kill any sonovabitch come to hurt him. Old habits from his slave days. That too dimmed when familiar features swam into place.

“Yer alright. Yer alright, I gotchu. I’m here.”

Kraglin settled on the edge of the bed, never mind that the mattress was pretty well soaked through. He kept a light hand on Yondu’s blistered forearm, rubbing a neat little circle on some of the skin exposed through the bandages. It hardly hurt. Compared to everything else, Kraglin could put a knife in his guts and it’d probably feel like a feather across his face compared to everything else.

“Ego,” Yondu rasped, leaning heavy against Kraglin. Wanting, no, _needing_ that contact just to know he was alive.

“Yeah?” Kraglin asked, keeping his voice low as he finally set the breather aside. It was clear that Yondu wasn’t going to let him put it back on his face. Best to keep it close in case the blue idiot went into some respiratory distress, which he was very likely to do.

“Ego,” Yondu said again, catching his breath. “I was…. And he was….”

“Dead as dust, sir,” said Kraglin, smiling as he said it. “Went out like a candle. We got some of it recorded. That rat fella…er…Rocket. Uh, he said he wanted to have a keepsake of it, so he made sure to get some footage. Haven’t seen it myself, since I was busy, well. You know.”

“Savin’ my sorry ass?” Yondu asked, and finally rested his chin on Kraglin’s bony shoulder.

Kraglin didn’t look at him, not exactly, but each man found their fingers twitching until they were wrapped up together. Something cold and distant played out on the Xandarian’s face for a second, right up until Yondu nudged him and dragged him closer. Near death made him a damn sentimental fool, but there weren’t nobody around to catch them, so it felt alright to have just a little moment to be tender.

“Pete will _not_ shut up about it.”

“He don’t shut up about nothin’.”

“Don’t know why you let him lip off to ya like that when we was raisin’ him,” said Kraglin and laughed a little, his whole frame trembling. Yondu smiled too, big and toothy.

“We gotta get outta here,” Yondu finally said distantly as he imagined that same mouthy kid coming into the med bay just to yak his damn ears off. Frostbite nearly got them, but the Terran was going to be the finishing blow. “We need a holiday from all this crap.”

“I heard the Guardians talkin’ ‘bout how they was gonna do a sit down with the Osp, but I don’t think that was gonna happen fer a while now.”

“You say that like we should be there with ‘em,” said Yondu, turning so he could look up at that big-beaked sonovabitch he damn well loved. Kraglin shrugged his free shoulder, makin’ a few noncommittal noises. “That Twig talk you into joinin’ up with ‘em too?”

“We kinda owe them though, don’t we?”

“You just miss having a whole crew of folks, don’t you?” asked Yondu. It prickled Kraglin, shutting him up quick. It was the wrong way to go about things. Better to have more alone time, let the wounds heal. “We owe ourselves a damn vacation, Kraggles.”

“I ain’t arguin’ against it,” Kraglin answered quietly. He turned his face, eyes closed in thought. “I’m just sayin’ what I know.”

“Say you’ll go to a damn beach with me somewhere and take care o’ these old bones,” said Yondu, brow furrowed. “Damn near _died_ out there, so you best believe I gotta make up for potentially lost time.”

“That don’t even make sense.”

“Makes sense if we order ourselves a couple of LoveBots to share.”

Kraglin didn’t blush or nothing; he was well beyond that nowadays. Time on the Eclector and in his captain’s company had cured him of such delicate sensibilities. But he laughed all the same, a funny little noise. He kissed Yondu’s temple, something he usually wouldn’t dare to try, but it was all different now, wasn’t it? Now that it was only the Quadrant and not the Eclector, only Yondu and not the whole Ravager crew.

“If it’s beach yer lookin’ for, I know we’re close to someplace that’ll attend to both yer appetites, sir,” said Kraglin.

Yondu didn’t correct him on the “sir” part—they shoulda been well past that now, but he liked it. And it was ingrained in Kraglin’s speech. It would be hard to get him to drop it.

Kraglin leaned away towards a table, reaching out for a datapad that was charging nearby. As he swiped up some coordinates, Yondu settled back into the wall of pillows that was built behind him, propping himself up and inviting Kraglin to join him. They lounged a bit, going over a quick and dirty detail plan of a vacation.

*

The brothel was out of business, but that certainly didn’t stop them.

*

Formal apologies are few and far between amongst the Ravagers. It was almost a defining flaw in their code of conduct, even for something as egregious as, say, a mutiny. Words had been shared, of course, right before they broke off the Quadrant and made their escape, a few times late at night when they were both soggy with too much drink and hazy after sex. But never much in the sobering light of day.

Kraglin felt he had to expel the words out, the truth about it all, betraying his captain like he did. But every time he tried, something choked him, be it fear, regret, anger, or a literal pair of blue hands grappling with any bit of flesh they could find. Even now, surrounded by the Guardians, with his captain lounging with him on a chair plain as can be, he couldn’t shake that dark feeling in his guts that he’d committed the only sin he knew, which was betrayal.

“I mean, honestly, all the best songs ever are love songs. Everybody knows that,” said Peter, grinning like mad at the small black brick that Yondu had gotten him as a gift, for when he would, “come back to the fold.” As though that was always a permanent option for Pete. Funny how that seemed to turn around and how quickly they were pressed into the Guardian’s crew. Pressed was the wrong word. No, pressed was right. Kraglin was basically dragged in by Rocket and Groot right after they were sure Yondu was going to survive.

“There are other songs out there besides love songs,” said Gamora, still nose-deep in her datapad.

Kraglin had money she was reading some fantastical romance novel and just had the best damn poker face of the group.

“Is there?” Peter asked, squinting with his over-animated face.

“We had the war chants, the rally songs, the summer solstice songs. There are hundreds of melodies out there that are not about a desire to sleep with another person,” said Drax.

“Yeah, dude, we know,” said Peter. “ _Obviously_ there are other songs, but, like, I’m saying the _best_ ones are un _deniably_   any late 70s rock song about gettin’ with the girl.”

“Please don’t gyrate yer hips that close to my head,” said Rocket, waving his tiny black paws over his eyes.

“It’s pelvic sorcery all over again,” said Gamora with a flippant wave of her hand. She peeled back the skin of another fruit with her teeth, some of the juice dribbling unladylike down her chin.

“Yep,” said Peter, who was swiveling his hips back and forth to the tune playing overhead.

As the beat picked up, his arm flailing nonsense started to kick in and he held out his hands to Mantis seated on the ground. She had been picking at the edge of her skirt, looking all sullen and lost, and her big black eyes widened at Peter’s outstretched hand.

“Come on,” he said. “Nobody else is gonna dance anyways.”

“Oh?” she asked, looking around at the crew.

“Nah, they’re lame butts who don’t know how to have a good time.”

“Well, some of us are only lame in the literal sense,” said Rocket. “Not _me,_ of course. But Blue Daddy there is probably—”

“Don’t call me that!” said Yondu, prickling a little, but not really jumping at the opportunity for an honest fight.

“Yeah, don’t call him that,” said Peter through his teeth, his face, neck, and exposed chest flamed a soft pink. At least he had sense to be embarrassed about it.

“Whatever, Star Boy.”

“Ignore him,” said Peter down to Mantis. He flapped his hands again towards her, asking her to take them and join in before the song ended. Not that he couldn’t just start the dang thing over again if he wanted. “He’s just cranky cause he needs a nap.”

Groot leapt off Rocket’s chair, trying to crawl up Mantis to get closer to Peter’s outstretched hands. He flailed a bit, stomping his foot and extending vines that would give him better leverage before Peter finally took notice and scooped little Twig there off the ground.

“No, don’t cover her in vines, ya doof,” said Peter, holding Groot higher.

“I am Groot.”

“Yeah, it is louder up here cause you’re closer.”

“No, he said he’s not a doof,” said Rocket, who kicked back into his chair and spread his legs out, stretching dramatically before settling back in. “Talkin’ about cranky; Groot should be gettin’  a nap.”

“I am Groot!”

“No, I’m not tellin’ you to do anything. You can do whatever.”

“I am—”

“Guys, guys,” said Peter, and flicked one of the speakers so it warbled overhead, distorting the music slightly. “Can we just try and…uh oh.”

Just as the music dipped into a lull between tracks, Peter set Groot up on his shoulder and made a noise that got Gamora’s attention. The Titan’s daughter was on her feet in an flash, Drax springing up from the sand behind her. Gamora flexed and a sword appeared in her hand. Couldn’t say the daughter of Thanos wasn’t always prepared.

“Afternoon,” said an Ipsision girl, standing at the edge of the campsite like she’d been born there. The Guardians were all up now, standing close in a circle. Yondu sat stiffer and Kraglin tested the knife in his hand, neither of them outwardly reacting to the strangers who come up on them like a shadow.

“Abar!” Peter took up the lead, scanning the people that had joined the girl. “Uh…. What gives?”

Abar had herself a crew. Honest to god mercenary looking crew at that. They must’ve been quick and quiet-like, cause they were on the campsite without any of the Guardians catching sight of it. Abar’s crew had heavy firepower between them. A Gvolo with fresh spikes across his heavily muscled forearms, a Luphomoid in black, two Krylorians of differing heights, and another Ipsision boy with a nasty white scar across his jugular. The Luphomoid was closest to Kraglin, swaying daintily on her feet and holding a blade in each hand. Just by the dense black outfit she wore, Kraglin bet there were more blades where that came from tucked away all over her body. It used to be his move when he was running around Xandar as a youth. He kept his eye on that one.

“We’re going to make this really easy on you guys,” said Abar, clearly the leader. “There’s a particular bounty we want. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“Uh, I didn’t think we had any bounties in this system,” said Peter. He looked back at the others, namely Gamora and Rocket. “Do we?” he mouthed.

“No. We don’t,” said Rocket from his perch on the chair. There was a blaster at his side, slim thing, probably couldn’t even hold more than two rounds. Rocket’s hand didn’t twitch near, likely so he didn’t give it away, but Kraglin didn’t think it’d do them any good with five enemies standing over them.

“You don’t,” said Abar, and cocked her hip as she leveled her weapon on Kraglin and Yondu. “But he does.”

Everyone seemed to take a step closer to Yondu, a shield before Abar and her crew made a move to take him. But it was Mantis’s turn to take up the spotlight. She stepped forward, hands clasped to the frills there of her pretty sheer skirt, not quite trembling but not quite standing to her full height neither.

“Abarnatasi, please,” said Mantis. Her antennae glowed a soft pale light, twitching slightly as she reached out a hand. “This is unwise. And it is cruel. You do not want—”

“Hold it,” said Abar, raising her weapon.

The thing was a cannon. Literally, a handheld cannon. It was triclonion hardware to be sure, with the three barrels and a glowing processor striped down the middle. Depending on the model and the ammunition, it could fry them, dice them, disintegrate them, or just strip the meat off their bones. Hard to get, hard to maintain. Kraglin had to wonder how an Ipsision got her hands on the thing.

“I’m gonna ask you step back nice and easy, darling. I don’t wanna hurt you,” said Abar.

And she didn’t. Maybe the others did, who knew, but she really didn’t.

Playing her damn hand right there.

“I hate havin’ to ask this,” said Yondu, leaning back a little until he felt Kraglin press a hand into his back, the knife hidden in Kraglin’s hand just in case either of them would need it, “but what _exactly_ am I bein’ collected for?”

“The Tortak,” said Abar, smiling easy-like with that cool Ipsision charm. Abar and the boy were the slender red breed from the south with the same dark skin, same fire hair, both of them wearing it cropped short. There was also a tattoo on Abar’s wrist and it fluctuated slightly in color and shape. Empath mark. Yep, the Tortak were definitely involved now.

Kraglin knew, the second they first saw her, she was Matron Mulu’s daughter. Yeah, yeah, all southerners looked the same, but that same rage from Mulu was right there in Abar’s eyes. Kraglin and Yondu had heard that Matron Mulu had passed away when they found out the Steel Rider was closed. While nothing like a formal apology—again, Ravagers don’t know how to do those especially well—they had sort’ve smoothed things out with Mulu during the last contact they made. Not a perfect patch, but Yondu had helped out Ipsis IV when they had their run-in with the Tortak. Saved some of the girls that were being abducted by the Kree. Lot of messy situations can happen on a tourist place like Ipsis IV, especially when they’re comfortable hosting a popular brothel. After the whole disaster, Yondu had promised to help rebuild some of the Steel Rider when they had the units to chip in. Those charitable units came and went without ever making way to Matron Mulu’s hands, but the sentiment had been there.

“Yeah?” Yondu asked, cocky and self-assured, at least for all outward appearances. “Thought I blew up some ugly jackass and his ugly sonsabitches during the last attempt by the Tortak. Wasn’t I helping you lot out?”

“Blew up half of the Steel Rider,” said Abar, showing no ill-will as she said, just stating a fact as a fact as a fact. Her tattoo was pulsing a dark red, vibrant even against her similarly hued skin. “If that’s what you mean by helping.”

“Yeah, and took out twenty Kree at the same time,” said Yondu. “I dunno. Kinda count that as a win, don’t you?”

“Enough of this chatter,” said Gamora. “You’ve threatened our group.”

“I have,” said Abar, smiling sweetly. The other one, the one with the ugly scar on his throat, didn’t share the same easy charm, but the rest of her crew did. They were pretty sure of themselves. “I only want one of you, though, so. We can do this real easy.”

“Dude, this is so unfair,” said Peter. “We played ball together, right? Anybody, like, know how to have any sportsmanship out here or anything? You guys know anything about—”

“Manners?” asked Rocket. He reached for the blaster, pulling it loose and shaking it by his side just the once as it opened up into four barrels, seemingly a common expanding electronic component to the rat’s tech. Something hummed as the machine warmed up and a red light began to glow at the end of his barrels. “They do not. However, I can—”

It was the Krylorians who dropped to the ground then, moving quick, nearly too quick to track. They had to be enhanced if they were anything. When they dropped, they threw out a slice of a net underneath Rocket’s chair. Gamora barely had time to step up next to Peter when the net was cast. A grid of blue light arced across the floor, lighting the raccoon’s skeleton up in stark contrast to his cybernetic enhancements and convulsing flesh. The shock waves touched Peter, who grunted, zapped to an almost comical pillar as lightning arced through him, making his legs numb. Gamora seized next to him, twisting in time to avoid a poisonous dart thrown for her chest. The little Twig rolled on the ground near Peter’s head, twitching with smoke curled up from some of his vines. He had avoided most of the electric shock, but his eyes were wide and unfocused. Drax wasn’t so easily slowed down. It took two darts to the chest, a third to his leg, and another blanket of electrical shocks from one of the Krylorian’s nets to put him flat on the sand. And then it was just Mantis, who dropped to her knees, holding her head in her hands. The Ipsision boy had a blaster pressed on her skull. He said nothing, staring coldly down the length of his arm to the hostage.

Wouldn’t hurt the bug lady.

“Hold up,” said Yondu, seated, untouched by the electricity that still sparked a few times across Rocket’s campsite floor. They were sitting just on the other side of the net, watching the Guardians spasm. He held up his hands, leaving the knife solely to Kraglin. “No more of this. I ain’t got a weapon on me.”

“I remember Ma always said you had a magic arrow,” said Abar. “Where’s that at?”

“I don’t have it,” Yondu answered.

“Yeah. Sure.” Abar chucked her chin at the Luphomoid. “Kipsi? Check him.”

“I wouldn’t,” said Yondu, low enough that only Kraglin heard him. Was that a warning? Kraglin could only see Yondu’s backside, but he gripped the handle of the knife tightly, just in case.

“What was that?”

“I don’t have my arrow,” Yondu said more distinctly, but Kipsi was already coming over, flipping one of her blades to get a better handle. She stepped across Drax’s unconscious body.

If they got out of this, they were going to have to see if there was any Gvolo antidote stocked up that they could snag. It was a slow moving poison, made a man more sick than dead, but Drax had three spikes in him. Some of the wounds were already oozing a yellowish pus.

“Hands up, Udonta,” said Kipsi, her voice low but rich. “Keep ‘em where I can see ‘em.”

She reached out to pad Yondu’s sides when Kraglin grabbed her wrist, yanking her down towards the point of his blade, aiming straight for her chest. Yondu acted as extra counterbalance, hefting her against his shoulder. Kipsi sliced her free arm towards Kraglin’s head, but he deflected her swing with his forearm, both of them colliding in a singsong of blunt pain as he knocked the weapon from her hand. She already had a replacement by the time she flipped across Yondu’s shoulder, kneeing him in the nose on the way. Kraglin felt her shoulder where she was keeping another blade strapped across her back, grabbed it, and ducked out of the way of her flashy knife. He shoved Yondu in the opposite direction before he was speared by Kipsi’s downward thrust.

Something whisked by Kraglin’s ear. If he bothered to look, he’d see one of the Gvolo’s needles stabbed in the sand behind him, but he was busy grappling with the springy Luphomoid. She arced a blade close to his chest, slicing again and again as he was driven backwards. He tried to kick at one of her shins, take her off balance, but he missed deflecting once and there was a sharp sting across his bicep. Blue blood poured out in a sheet down his arm. He didn’t have time to be shocked. He grabbed for Kipsi again, managing to bunch up a fistful of her sleeve, fumbling for her shoulder as he yanked her in and head-butted her. A crack over her nose. Stars swam across his vision. Some dull, broken pain skittered through his skull, but that was easy to ignore when the threat was high. He recovered, wheeling about to face the rest of them bastards who would threaten his captain when the world went suddenly cold and dark.

Kraglin blinked. Nothing.

Kraglin blinked again. Fuzzy outlines near him of blue hands. Familiar blue hands. Reaching hands. He reached too.

Kraglin blinked again in time to see Yondu brought up to his feet by the Krylorians, a blaster to his neck.

“Don’t,” Yondu said, his voice shouted across a long, _long_ chasm filled with too much fluff and echoing about like it was pinging through a hollow metal chamber.

There was something warm coming from the back of his head. Kraglin gingerly fingered the growing lump, his hand sticky when he took it away. Just what he needed. Another set of stitches on his head. They’d go great with the set he’d need for his arm soon too.

“Don’t hurt ‘em.”

“I wasn’t gonna,” Abar answered, further away. “You come quiet like, nobody else has to get hurt.”

Everything was so damn heavy. Seven Hells, Kraglin was gonna fall into that soft white sand for good. He felt so weak. Something was bubbling in his guts and he was down on his hands and knees, any strength slipping clean out. He trembled, just as Peter and Gamora trembled near him, not quite recovered from the shock. And Twig there, curled up on himself. Poor little thing would be sobbing when it came to. Rocket. Drax. Mantis. Mantis! Mantis, if she just….But Kraglin didn’t lift his head to look. His stomach cramped and soon he was throwing up in the sand instead of getting up to go after his captain. He emptied his guts, retching loudly as the fuzz there at the edge of his vision worsened and tears started dripping off the end of his nose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I already say you're welcome? For the pain the characters are put through? I'm sure I did. If I didn't...well. Boy howdy. You're welcome.


	6. Just Say the Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Guardians are on Abar's trail, ready to rescue Yondu, but don't count the Blue Idiot out yet. He's got a trick up his sleeve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I believe you would pronounce Ja F "Jahf," like a weird Jeff. I imagine space has a lot of weird Jeff names.

Triangle. Square. Blue. Red. Forest.

Ain’t that always the order every other day? They pull up the cards.

Triangle.

And you got a muzzle on, like yer some kinda animal? But they still wanna hear them words, all clear and clean like so you can finally get to the caf with the others.

Square.

Get some time outta that cage, for one. They call it a cell, like they’re being compassionate about it somehow saying a prison cell is better than a cage, but it is what it is, and everybody knows it. Little thing, too, so you have to curl up on your tail. Thank whatever that you get to keep your tail. Not everyone had that kinda luxury in this joint.

Blue.

And when you’re done with the cards, they always gotta pull out the crate. Crate has all this shit in it. Wires, datapads, chips, durvian cases, plasma chargers, kree puzzle boxes, A’askavarian bullet casings, the works. Gotta test out the intelligence, build spec tech or antimatter bombs or recalibrated dual-proton hypothermal catalysts with single-trigger applicators outta the products in front of you. Sometimes you built survival gear for deep freeze and then they’d shoot you into the void for a day, see how well you survive before you get to pilot back home and should be stupid enough to try and escape, the failsafe would implode and there’s all yer guts splattered on the windshield. Happened to Jerry. Happened to Hester. Happened to…. Sometimes they just wanted to see what you saw, right, and put in them blue contacts. The contacts stung, but, then, didn’t everything? Didn’t everything?

Red.

Too easy. Too frickin’ easy. How many times you look inside your own chest and have them bags hanging above you, change ‘em out on a regular rotation before you managed to bleed out? Because the key is that they keep yer heart pumping, right? Something about merchandise, but it’s more than merchandise. It’s a test subject. It’s a toy. It’s playing gods with something smaller than you so’s you can’t fight back. Muzzle on, cage ready. Eyes stinging. Everything stinging.

Forest.

The hell’s a forest when you’ve been on this dump yer entire known life? However long you had the brain to process it, anyways. That’s how you measure life, you know, in the moments you remember anything to remember, which is likely somebody’s hand elbow deep in your guts and tinkering away with no rightly regards to whatever noise you was making. Just answer the questions, rat, and you can go out and play with your friend, subject P18842.

Triangle. Square. Blue. Red. Forest.

“Triangle. Nng. S…square.”

“Hey. Hey, y’all wanna come over here? I think he’s comin’ to.”

“Mmmblue.”

Something warm and dark across your chest. Something soft. Heavy, sure, and weight isn’t so much a deal breaker except it starts to make your chest tighten with panic when half the time that weight is there just to make you feel grounded. When your chest tightens, the sensors they put in your spine spasm and suddenly it’s almost impossible to breathe. Deep breathes. Somebody said it, they’re gonna say it again. Not now. Answer the questions, get up, and find her. But it’s soft, and warm, and damnit, alright, it’s comforting. It’s scary that it’s comforting. They didn’t ever have anything soft. Even your “friend” had too many mats half the time and you keep wondering, perhaps a bit too loudly, where is she? Where _is_ she? You struggle, much as you can when all your joints are seized up like they’ve been poured with cement. They never used cement before. You got a skeleton refurbished outta noskorvo metal, microchips at all the active points to flush you with adrenaline so you can make impossible jumps, the neuro pumps so you can find yourself outta any situation, even if you have to build the bomb that will get you outta there. There’s a solution. There’s always a solution. If you just answer the questions.

“Are you sure that a nest of this sort is the correct kind for a woodland creature such as—”

“Not now. Rocket? Can you hear us?”

“Rrrred?”

“Mantis, go tell Peter.”

Something shifts. Moves away. Jeeze, how many idiots they got around the operating table today, huh? Got a regular spectacle goin’ on with a damn raccoon knocked flat on his ass, huh, fellas? Pathetic. They don’t even know what you are, really. They never knew. First chance you get, get up, bite their noses off. Grab a scalpel on the way out. If you can get to the flight pod without anybody zappin’ you, you might get to atmo with enough time to pull the first perimeter trigger outta yer skull. Then it’s about carving out the rest of the failsafe in, what, five, maybe ten minutes, if it takes the bastards tailing you that long to launch their recall team? Talk about red. You know red. You know everything about red.

 “Oh! Of course.”

There’s something moving on your wrist and, for a second, you got a ping in your chest that you gotta take care of it. You gotta get up and take care of it, nurture it, watch it dance and smile and keep bugs outta its mouth. Just keeps stuffin’ ‘em in there when you’ve been givin’ it proper food and whatnot since it first figured out how to chew. Like, yeah, candy ain’t exactly the _healthiest_ option, but, so what? You love it. You love that thing more than you loved yourself. Maybe even more than you loved…love her. Your nose wrinkles, but there ain’t no muzzle this time. Just a familiar taste of metal and an electric tingle through your fur. And there, by your side, nestled up tight, that little hand there holding onto a finger. Get up. Get _up_.

“Fff…Lylla?”

*

Peter adjusted the throttle a touch, picking up some momentum between two closely orbiting stars. The pull from their gravity field acted as a quick slingshot, just a little boost as they raced on. He’d admit that if anyone should be flying, it’d be Kraglin, who was possibly the best damn pilot on the Eclector, but his hands felt all weird and they needed to be doin’ something while they played catch up.

He should have done better. That’s what he kept telling himself. He should have done better.

Better at what, though? Reading that Abar was gonna betray them and attack? Yeah, how the hell was he gonna pick up on that when she was the one inviting them to play a stupid game on the beach? On their _vacation_ , at that. The whole thing was supposed to be fun and then they got betrayed by a pretty face who knew how to handle a ball. This was his fault. It was. It absolutely was.

Peter touched his forehead, huffing out some of the gross feeling swimming in his chest.

“I mean, thank god they even had Gvolo serum,” Peter said, rubbing his eyebrow before he put both hands on the joysticks again and pressed his back against the pilot chair. “Otherwise we’d be two men down, right? Right. Right right right.”

Peter’s leg was pumping fast against the floor, jiggling all the way up his spine. He clenched his jaw and checked their fuel before he pushed the engines more, a freckle if he could spare it. Maybe the things would blow out but maybe not before they caught up with Abar. Maybe.

“Please,” he said behind his teeth. His eyes were burning and he blinked hard, squinting, and hummed again to get that stupid knot outta his throat. “Please,” he said again, damn near shaking from head to foot. “Please. Pl—”

A hand carefully brushed over the top of his shoulder, resting gently close to his neck. The furious energy hopping through his system scattered, if for a moment, before he twitched away and turned to look back with an accusing eye.

“Don’t,” he said, glaring up at Mantis’s outstretched hand. She blinked, crumpling on herself, and usually he’d fall for that in an instant. Feel all guilty about yelling at her when all she’d done as try and help, but he was kinda full on guilt at the moment, even after she had tried to sponge some of it away. “Just. Not now, okay? What’re you doing up here anyhow?”

“They have told me I should let you know that Rocket has awoken.”

“Rocket’s up?” Peter almost got out of the chair to race down into the tight quarters below, but thrummed his fingers along the joystick, waiting. No. Better to be here. Better to keep the Milano flying straight on as fast as he could make her. “How’s he doing?” Peter asked instead, turning in his chair. He glanced back up at Mantis, who had her head bowed and her hands clasped gently in front of her. “I…. You wanna sit down?”

Mantis unfurled slightly, her wide eyes glossy before she blinked and finally took the co-pilot seat next to Peter. She sat straight-backed and perfect. Do whatever she likes as long as she doesn’t put her hand on Peter’s shoulder. He didn’t care. He just, well, he really needed all that fury right now. He needed it to keep a clear vision of where they were going.

“How’s he lookin’?” Peter asked, slumping a little as he drummed the joystick a few times and then promptly stopped. He wanted to look a little more at ease. Even if he just looked it, it usually made Mantis feel better and she wasn’t so twitchy on influencing his emotions.

“Not as optimal as we would hope,” Mantis answered, and took a fistful of the hemline of her tunic-like shirt in hand.

Everybody had ditched the swimsuit gear once they were up and back on the Milano. They’d also ditched most of Rocket’s campsite stuff only because none of them could figure out how to pack it back up in it’s neat little cube and time was of the essence. It was only bags, speakers, and the Zune that made it back on board. They jumped on ship and got outta their wet clothes fast as they could. Well, everybody except the two ex-Ravagers. Peter plopped himself straight in the captain’s chair and looked up the signatures of all the ships leaving the planet before he clocked the one that must’ve been Abar. They all knew it was Rocket who would’ve had the coordinates up the fastest, but he wasn’t doin’ so hot just then. Neither was Drax, if they were honest, but he was acting more drunk than anything and when they finally got him up, they just had to get him to stumble far enough that he was on the Milano before Gamora basically robbed a nearby pharmacist for the drugs that would fix him up—they paid for them. Peter made sure they paid, but the knife to that dude’s throat really sped things up.

Kraglin, who rushed onboard with Mantis and Rocket and a teary-eyed Groot, said he ought to be the one piloting them cause he had a better handle on how that Ipsision ship was running. Peter said he’d shoot Kraglin in the face if he tried to take the controls again. When that paper-thin threat didn’t do anything to budge him, he said how Kraglin would be better with Rocket, since he’d spent all that time in med bay and might be the only one of them who knew how to work any of that medical crap. It was barely an excuse, but it was enough. Kraglin conceded and he was down there now, sitting in his swim trunks, a spare shirt grabbed as an afterthought before he started shivering.

Groot was still with Rocket. Nobody could get him untangled from Rocket’s forearm, once the little guy anchored himself there, but nobody was really trying either.

“But he’s up then, right?”

“He was talking some, yes.”

“Words?”

“Of a sort.”

“Of a sort?”

“They _are_ words, if that is what you are asking.”

Peter slumped further, and breathed out that captive feeling again. Talking. Well, that was way better than last time. Last time he was only making raccoon noises and his detached stare bore right into Peter’s brain like a red-hot poker. If he was talking, he’d be alright.

Mantis shifted and when she did, Peter tensed up so tightly, he almost jerked the ship off course, twisting away to shield himself somehow from her touch. She looked heartbroken, and sank back in her chair.

“I—”

“No,” Peter said, chewing his lip, “I’m sorry. Sorry. I’m just, you know, I’m. I mean, if anything happens to Yondu, right, it’s all on me, man, and I. Ah. I shouldn’t’ve done that. To you. Or the team. Can you believe Abar would do this? Like? Honestly, I didn’t even see it coming.” Peter sat quietly for a second, barely a second, probably, before he punched his armrest. “I got the team hurt! _Again_! And this was supposed to be relaxing, you know? I just…AGH!” He punched the armrest again.

Mantis watched him quietly, not flinching once, but her mouth pouting slightly. There were a lot of things she could’ve said, probably, but they would’ve just rung hollow and Peter was glad she didn’t try. Instead, once he settled back again and huffed and caught his breath, she gently reached out. Peter eyed her in case she tried to make a grab for him, but she was deliberately moving slowly without looking his way once. Carefully, oh so carefully, she stretched and pressed one of the buttons that Rocket had shown her. They’d used that one often and anybody on the Milano knew what it was for. Peter almost pinched himself when he finally understood which one she was going for. A soft melody began to drift across the speakers, picking up from where the Zune had left off on the beach. A piano hammered out pleasantly before Carole King started serenading them about how they had to get up every morning with a smile on your face. Mantis bloomed at the music, perking up as the melody carried on. Peter didn’t, but he appreciated what she was going for.

*

“Where you takin’ me then?” Yondu asked, sinking back into the chair, legs spread to either side as he leaned back to relieve some of the pressure on his shoulders from having his arms tied straight behind his back. How many times had he seen himself in this situation? Sometimes he’d asked for it, though, and a memory danced briefly across his mind.

“You know,” said the Gvolo.

Green scaly sonovabitch was keeping watch on him down in the little galley they had aboard their Starskipper. The hull rattled as they slipped inside another trade route stream. It was amazing the ship didn’t rattle apart when they left the atmosphere.

“Yeah. Yer girl said it was the Tortak,” Yondu answered. “’Cept we both know they got so many holdings around, you could point out a planet in the system and park and we’d get a meet and greet. So. Again. Where you takin’ me?”

The Gvolo snorted, hocking something chunky up to his mouth that he chewed on as he picked out some grit under his nails. If he thought he was gonna gross out Yondu, he was gonna have to try a damn sight more than that. So Yondu rolled his head back against the edge of the chair, massaging his neck against the hard metal as he flexed against the restraints again. Didn’t budge, but that didn’t mean the end.

“Only if you promise you’ll hire out a proper contractor.”

“These hands know enough about carpentry.”

“Don’t even pretend, darling.”

The Krylorian twins entered the galley as the ship pulled out of its little tunnel of turbulence. The girl had the steadiest legs and she practically glided into the room, but her brother staggered. He bumped into the table that they all must’ve decided was their weapons locker, since everything was laid out plain as day. Just enough hardware for everybody to get one item. Not enough if they got into a firefight with the Kree nutbags that were part of the Tortak.

“And how is our little prisoner, Ja F?” asked the girl, slipping in behind the Gvolo and ruffling the row of spikes that crowned his skull. “Abar says we’re still a day out.”

A day? That meant the Starskipper couldn’t handle going through a jump. Yondu smiled up at the Krylorian gal, doing all but wagging his tongue. He had all the time in the world now.

“Tell me you got some food on this boat,” said Yondu, and batted his eyes all pretty-like. “Y’all done jumped us before we had lunch and I’m starvin’.”

“Oh, you poor dear.” The Krylorian skipped over towards him, taking a long step so she could straddle him across his thighs. He had to admit, she smelled nice. “Are you hungry, then?”

“Hemla, don’t,” said the other Krylorian.

“But he’s hungry, darling,” she said, smiling sweetly as she squeezed a little on the outside of his thighs, forcing his knees closer inch by inch. “We interrupted his meal with his friends.”

“And my last meal, by the sounds of things,” he said, playing along. He licked his lips even before he clapped his legs together. “So, come on. Tell me yer gonna give a dying man a little treat.”

Hemla smirked.  If they all came from Matron Mulu, they knew their way around a brothel. They could read between the lines and it looked like Hemla knew how to play the game. She brushed her hand across his cheek delicately. Normally, he’d jerk away when someone touched the scars on his head, but he wasn’t gonna give her none of that. There were better ways to show weakness and play a captor. Hemla’s fingers trailed down to his chin, poking the dimple there. It was sweet, soft, snake-oil kindness and Yondu knew it. He took a sturdy breathe, knowing exactly what was coming for him without her having to project it. Hemla’s gentle hand recoiled and popped him square in the jaw so hard, a metal-capped tooth was knocked loose and rattled around on his tongue. Yondu crumbled against the blow immediately, knocked to his side so one of his shoulders popped unpleasantly. His jaw didn’t work around and he was afraid it might be broken.

Hemla leapt off him in a clean jump. Yondu moaned and spat out the tooth, unwilling to recover from it.

“How’s that treat?” Hemla asked and giggled. She danced away, twirling into her brother before she went back upstairs to join Abar and the other Ipsision in the cabin. Apparently whatever she’d come down to the galley for was forgotten.

“Seven hells,” Yondu mumbled towards his gut.

There was blood filling his mouth and he let it dribble down his chin. The other Krylorian smirked by the entryway, satisfied by his sister’s handiwork. Well, not satisfied enough. He walked over politely and hooked him with the opposite fist, jerking Yondu’s body in the opposite direction. He felt his shoulder pop again, and felt like all it’d take was a bad bump from the turbulence to suck it completely outta it’s socket. Yondu coughed against the pain, lolling in the seat. This time he didn’t say anything.

“Hey,” said the Ja F, standing up with the Krylorian boy. “They still gonna want him if he’s damaged goods?”

“The Tortak delight in their work,” said the Krylorian. “They will enjoy having their prize, I think.”

Ja F glanced back at Yondu, who didn’t budge from his chair, making pathetic noises. “Yeah,” he said, giggling a little. “Yeah, guess you’re right, man. What’re you guys doing up there?”

“Hemla is making plans on how to rebuild with Abar.”

“Did she say anything about the VIP room I was talking about?”

Ja F followed the Krylorian up out of the galley, chatting away animatedly. He was getting bored sitting alone in the galley and any excuse to get out was enough for him, especially if they’d crippled the man they were supposed to be guarding. Yondu waited patiently in the chair, listening for them to climb up into the cabin with Abar before he forced himself to sit up. Now that he was alone, he looked around, trying to find anything that help him out. The table with their weapons was close. If he kicked off his boots, he could probably even grab something with his toes. Yondu started working his foot free, jerking back occasionally to see what kind of locks they’d used and deciding if he was going to pick it or shoot it off. Either way, he was getting out of those cuffs, broken jaw be damned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lady Lylla gets a brief brief mention, yay!! And then...never again.


	7. Take Me On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's this? The Guardians are bantering, they're picking music, they're sailing off. By Jove, I think they're on a rescue mission! Will Yondu be there when they arrive? That's the question.

“Yer telling me it’s a _moon_? I can blow up a moon, idiots. I told you a hundred and one _thousand_ times I been ready to blow up a moon.”

“No.”

“What? Why?”

“Yeah, Gamora, let him blow up a moon.”

“No,” she said, more insistent as she leaned over the console, adjusting the display so she could see the star skipper. “We came this way to _rescue_ our compatriot. Not blow him up.”

“Look, we can blow it up afterwards, how ‘bout that?” Peter asked from the copilot chair.

He was crowded about with Mantis tucked in next to him there on the floor, Kraglin perched between his seat and Rocket’s, and Drax hovering overhead. Groot was safely strapped in next to Rocket, the two inseparable since the beach.  Rocket wasn’t piloting . Peter basically banned him from taking over the controls on pain of being sent back to bed without getting a chance to at least _see_ the fight He was still shaky on his feet and had to be all by carried up into the cabin, which he only accepted after Drax showed he wasn’t laughing about it. And Drax! The Gvolo antidote had made him nearly as sick as the poison, but he was on his feet again, stern looking as ever. They told him, hey, he could rest. Hell, they could all rest and Peter would go in and blow up the bastards that did this just fine on his own. He was ready for it, but they all wanted to be there. It was fine. They were all together. There was, like, plenty room in the cabin, and all but they were pressed in like sardines so they could see Abar’s ship in the forward windshield with their own eyes.

“You’ll really let me blow up the moon?”

“Yeah, sure,” said Peter with a halfhearted shrug.

“I’ll hold you to your word. I really really will.”

“He ain’t really gonna blow up the moon, is he?” asked Kraglin, low and conspiratorially, as though he was afraid to catch Rocket’s ire.

“Watch it, Snaggletooth. You seen what I can do with a couple of batteries and a switch, so, y’know, don’t think I can’t.”

“I wasn’t sayin’ or nothin’.”

“Besides, if that’s a Tortak base of operation, yer basically gonna wanna beg me to blow it up. Just watch.”

“Yeah, but let’s figure that out _after_ we get Yondu, okay?”

“Yeah, can’t leave Daddy behind.”

“Dude,” Peter said, shaking his head as they watched the star skipper fly through the short scanner port around the moon base ahead. Peter shrugged back into his chair and slowed the Milano down so they didn’t crash into the line of spacers headed towards the moon. “Anyways, be useful for something and tell me how we’re going to follow them in.”

“Through that thing?” asked Rocket. He strained to turn in his chair, gritting his teeth while he glanced back at Gamora. “What’s the readouts say?”

“Standard issue Garblax gate.”

“Oh, so, a hull ripper if we try to bypass it without shutting off the safety. So, like, real easy.”

“At least we have plenty of space suits with us, should the worst outcome present itself,” Gamora answered.

“They didn’t rip Abar’s ship,” said Kraglin. He was leaning over Peter, almost touching the joy stick control. Peter had to practically elbow him in the gut to back off, cause they weren’t going to share the role of the pilot. Not this trip, at least. “I’m just sayin’. It means they was either expecting them or they’ve already hailed about the bounty.”

“And none of us are wanted by these guys? Seriously?” asked Peter as he slumped back into his seat again.

“I once threatened a Kree purist on a nude pleasure colony by tearing out his throat,” answered Drax, leaning casually against the support panels overhead. “I believe they were part of the Tortak ring. I believe they were busy recruiting women at the time. They did swear vengeance, up until they could swear no more.” He glanced around at the varying display of faces from the others, ranging from indifferent to horrified to moderately impressed. “What? I _have_ been arrested, if you recall.”

“Yeah,” said Peter through a scoff and then, quietly, to himself, he added, “I just didn’t think you’d ever be on a nude pleasure colony.”

“I kept my pants on,” Drax added.

“I didn’t ask!”

“I was not participating in the festivities and I find it more comfortable to keep them on, you see, unless bathing or participating in sexual intercourse.”

“I _didn’t ASK_!”

“Although sometimes, when I—”

“Please don’t finish that sentence. Please. Ever. Rocket, did you figure out how to get through to the gate or what, because if I have to hear about Drax’s pants escapades, I’m just gonna have you blow up this ship, okay?”

“Not like that wouldn’t be fun,” Rocket answered while tapping madly at the datapad in front of him, “but I’m still holding out on blowing up that moon.”

“Get us to that Ipsision bitch so I can do to her tenfold what she did to me,” said Gamora quietly, a leg draped across her knee as she studied the blueprints of the Tortak base in front of her. It was Drax who had the gall to balk at her and she answered his gaze with, “I’m allowed to be upset. She started it and I just want to finish it.”

“Atta girl,” Peter answered and glanced over at Mantis, his face twisted in a combination of disbelief, anger, fear, desperate love and unimaginable pride. It was a hard look to pull off and mostly involved him pursing his lips while twisting his eyebrows up and down, but he managed it just fine. “Hey.” He slid the Zune’s holding case over towards Mantis and said, “Pick something to get us pumped.”

“Oh, me?” asked Mantis. She accepted the Zune reverently, head bowed as she carefully wrapped her fingers around the very important black case. There were tunes still lilting over the speakers, but Peter had made certain to turn down the noise once everybody had joined him up in the cabin. Searching out their target had the same required energy as finding a parking spot, and he needed to lower the volume in order to feel like he was fully concentrating on the task. “I do not know if—”

“Yeah, make it a good one,” said Peter with a  wink. “Cause, like, Gamora said she’s going to ‘end a bitch,’ so. I mean _I_ think that deserves something bad ass, right?”

“Bad ass indeed,” Mantis answered and started scrolling through the playlist. It was imperative that she chose correctly and she skimmed through the titles, regarding them each in turn, before she skipped ahead to find something better.

*

The line leading into the heavily armed base crawled on at a steady enough pace. The start and stop really made the star skipper rock unsteadily and they each fought against the uncomfortable sea sickness that accompanied the ride. Abarnatasi had it easiest, since she was there at the controls, and therefore had some sort’ve agency over how the boat was rolling. Least that’s what she was telling herself as she took deep, studying breathes through her nose to keep from throwing up.

Someone tapped her shoulder gently, making her jolt. She glared up as First Chor as he spread a quick translucent display across the palm of his hand.

I D o n t  L i k e  T h i s.

“Too little too late there, buddy,” said Abarnatasi, smirking at his communication display. “We’re here. Whad’ya want me to do? Just turn us around and go home?”

Y e s.

“Well, tough luck.”

T h i s  I s  W r o n g.

“No. No, what he did to us, that’s what’s wrong. Listen, I get it. Going back to the Tortak is, like, whatever, but they’re the only ones left who’ll pay for that blue bastard down there and it’s the only way we get the place up and running again. You want to go back to begging on the streets to all them tourists, fine, but I can’t live like that anymore, First. I need this. We _need_ this.”

Y o u  D o n t  N e e d  I t  L i k e

“Hemla!” Abarnatasi shoved First Chor’s palm out of her face, looking around for the Krylorian dancer. “Did that guy tell us where we’re meeting yet or not?”

“Let me check, darling,” said Hemla in her annoying sing-song voice as she leapt up from a silky hammock strung up at the back of the cabin. Her brother Hemlo was stretched out on the floor beneath her, his hands tucked neatly behind his head as he continued with his calisthenics to pass the time. Ja F held Hemlo’s feet and said a random number out loud whenever Hemlo lost track.

W e  C a n  T u r n  B a c k.

“Stop it, First.”

Abarnatasi shoved First Chor’s hand out of her face again. She was ready to boot him in the chest. He deserved it. Maybe he’d tumble down the stairs there and break his neck. _H’th’ta kal_ , this was not the way the world worked. This was not the way she would have done things. But, hey, when a man really fucks up the course of your quaint little life and destroys the only home you’ve ever known, sometimes you have to do things differently.

First Chor flapped his hand again to get her attention, but she took his wrist and yanked him down close.

“Listen,” she whispered, and forced his eyes to look down at the mark along her wrist. The mark was a blistery red, radiant and mean. She shook him and reached up, tracing a finger there across his throat. “You, of all people, should be the one dragging that sack of shit to the Tortak. Stop being Aunt Mulu’s little ashari babe and _do_ something.”

The two cousins locked eyes then, holding onto each other in a stalemate of desperation and loss. He’d always been Abarnatasi’s mother’s little shadow, showing up at their doorstep after his parents perished in that flood. First Chor was a perfect boy who did everything Mulu ever asked without question Eeen when he used to have the voice to protest. But, now? Now, after they’d done all this, after they’d pulled anyone together who _cared_ , and he was going to try and ruin it. He was first to blink those sad golden eyes with those sad bruised lids. Abarnatasi shoved him away and, this time, he stumbled to his seat, curling his knees up to his chest as he stared out at the dusty moon below.

“Oo, I think I found it. Okay, so, once we’ve landed in the square, there’s a terminal that’ll take us to Llu’u’ui. I’m just pulling it up now, but I think it’s a weapon’s depot? Somebody please look at this and tell me what exactly I’m supposed to see, because they have that insipid crypto cloak all over the adviso and I _hate_ having to read a Skarlap blurb when I don’t have to show off.”

“Hemla, can you just pretend for a second you—”

There was the high-pitched whirl as something electrical was primed. By the sounds of it, one of the weapons from downstairs warmed. It crackled in the dark there near the staircase. Hemla whirled in time to see her familiar blue net shoot out of the stairwell and wrap comfortably around her shoulders, hugging her tight before the shock zapped through the netting and lit her up like a solar storm. She seized in the bright white light, jittering a terrible jig on those delicate dancer toes of hers. Then she fell flat to the floor like so much dead weight.

Hemlo shoved Ja F off his feet in an attempt to catch his twin. His fist connected first with Ja F’s face, nearly taking one of the bristling spikes with it. Luckily he missed the spike, but managed to break Ja F’s nose and there was a spout of blood leaking from his nostrils. Hemla fell, connected with the floor, and her head bounced once, twice against the grating before she lay still. Hemlo was on her in an instant, ripping the netting off. It didn't matter if there was any charge yet in the net, little blue arcs of light leaping over his fingertips. He ignored everything trying to get Helma free. Abarnatasi quickly locked the controls to the star skipper and leapt over the Krylorians, bounding towards the shadows only to skid to a halt.

“Hey there, Red.”

Yondu rose from the dark of the stairwell with a blaster trained on Abarnatasi’s chest. He gritted his teeth, having to mumble around a locked jaw. There was a blackish bruise spread evenly across the bottom of his jaw and his cheeks puffed out slightly near his neck. Blood dripped from a hasty wound down his wrist, but he kept a firm hold of the blaster all the same. "Where you takin' us?”

Abarnatasi raised her hands slowly. The mark on her wrist fluctuated quickly, first yellow, then blue, then settling to the familiar orange as she wrestled with her emotions. She smiled and leaned back against the edge of the pilot chair, going so far as crossing her arms as she did.

“So, which one of them broke your jaw then, hmm?”

Yondu didn’t so much as spit. He had a steady arm and he cocked the blaster. There was a satisfying click as it primed. His mouth twitched into a smile, but the bruise must’ve hurt like a sonovabitch, because he wiped that away right quick.

“Yeah.” Abarnatasi shrugged and hooked one ankle beneath the other. She looked down at the Krylorian twins. Hemla was out cold and Hemlo was whispering sweetly in her ear, promising her it was all gonna be alright, the big idiot. They were useless to her. “I’m gonna go with Hemla. She’s got a mean hook, don’t she? It’s the skeletal bracers they put in her knuckles. You ask me, they should’ve added them to her brother, too, but, hey. Beggars can’t be choosers, right?”

“Don’t need yer chatter,” said Yondu, straining to push the words out through them ugly teeth there. His mouth was shiny with blood. The man was leaking all over the place and still wouldn’t drop his weapon. That stood for something if it stood for anything. “Turn around.”

Abarnatasi began to turn around, hands back up where he could see them as she wiggled her fingers. Yondu grunted and waved the barrel of his gun.

“No!” he shouted best he could. “Take us back. Ipsis IV.” Except when he said it, he had to slug it out as, “Ibshshs.”

Abarnatasi pulled at the cartilage of her ear and asked, “Hmm? Yer gonna have to speak up, honey. Can’t hear you.”

“You—”

Ja F barreled towards Yondu, two long bones ripped from his arms in each hand as the spikes bristled along the top of his skull. He rushed the Centaurian, the only fault his hasty battle cry as he went to connect with Yondu. He sliced one of his makeshift daggers, aiming for Yondu’s guts, but his shout gave him away and Yondu turned in time to fire off a round in the cramped cabin. The blaster sizzled a hole in Ja F’s arm. In the syrupy moment of blaster shell meeting flesh, a clean circle was bored through Ja F, and they could see from one side to the other as some of his shirt caught fire. He cried out, twisting away from the pain. Hemlo threw himself over Hemla’s body, catching Ja F around the ankles. The Gvolo fell into the mess, screaming bloody murder all the way down. The only good that came from his hasty attack was a fresh line cut down Yondu’s chest that started to soak into the thin undershirt he’d worn on the beach. Yondu fired again, missing anything vital but the flimsy plating of the star skipper.

“Not the hull!” Abarnatasi cried out, shielding her eyes against the blast. She leapt over the seat to get to the controls.

Yondu slapped his hand to his chest, holding the loose skin together. He staggered out of Hemlo’s reach, firing at the Krylorian’s back. It missed, sizzling into the floor instead, and then Yondu quickly got a round off over the pilot’s chair. They all froze as the round cracked against the glass. A spidery fracture splintered through the glass, blooming near Abarnatasi’s head. They stared at it, waiting, waiting, breathless. They were still well above the moon, not close enough to lose the window without repercussions and the fact that they could become literally breathless sank in quickly. If the glass shattered and blew out into the thin atmosphere above the moon, that’d be it.

“Are you insane?” Abarnatasi screamed, jolting everyone with the sound.

Yondu didn’t answer. He just aimed the blaster again, pointing it clearly at her head. It was her move. Do something reckless or take them back like he asked. But the blood was flowing freely down his shirt there and he was already starting to breathe a little haggardly, like the air was thin and he’d been running uphill. Ja F’s poison was working quick. Abarnatasi sank back in the chair and watched.

“Take. Us. Back,” Yondu growled. Abarnatsi smiled. Yondu  huffed, stepping towards her. She was sure he meant it more a threat than he managed as his eyes fluttered and he collapsed there atop Ja F, Hemlo and Hemla. His blaster clattered out of reach. Abarnatasi scooped it off the ground in case Yondu managed to rouse himself.

“Sorry, Yondu,” said Abarnatasi with an insincere pout.

Ja F threw Yondu off. He gripped his arm, looking down at the mess of his arm. He was cursing up a storm how he’d been ruined, how they didn’t even try to stop him. Hemlo was too busy scooping Hemla off the ground and carrying her back to her hammock. He brushed her long dark hair off her face, promising her something sweet and lovely.  And First Chor. First Chor was still curled up in his seat, staring at the crack in the window.

“So?” Abarnatasi asked her cousin, poking First Chor with the hot barrel of the blaster. He flinched against the heat, but didn’t look up at her. “You got anything to say?”

First Chor shook his head and raised his hand, extending a shaky finger.

“Yeah, I know. He shot the fucking w—” Abarnatasi slowly turned towards the crack in time to see a shadow skip across her view. “What in the?” But the ship rocked off course as they were forcibly docked. Abarnatasi dropped the blaster when she was thrown into her cousin. A cool breeze ripped through their little star skipper as the hull was breached and over the atmosphere pumps they could hear a faint tune begin to build, announcing the a-holes who had breached them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I imagine an ashari being a space lamb, but I didn't want to write space lamb. I think they're larger than you're thinking, but they eyes are definitely goat eyes and they are totally blue. Totally. Aren't they cute, these space lambs? They really are.
> 
> Also, I forget what I write in the past and I can't believe I've managed to have two mute characters. What's up with that? Everybody getting their throats ripped out in space, apparently. But that's cool (go read Aim to Fire *if you want*).


	8. Everyone, Everyone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fight fight fight fight FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT!
> 
> The Guardians have arrived and they are ready to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Edge of Seventeen" - Stevie Nicks (Hell. Goddamn. Yeah)
> 
> "Everyone" - Van Morrison (only because that is not a fight song, it's in the Royal Tenenbaums, and I love it)

_Just like the white wing doves sings a song sounds like she’s singing…._

Peter raised his blasters to the dark interior of the star skipper. Kraglin flanked his left, Gamora his right, with Drax and Mantis right behind him. Nobody was there to greet them, but that didn’t mean they were going to just put down their weapons. They weren’t a bunch of idiots or anything.

Something shuddered up ahead and Peter pointed his blaster at it, heading off into the dark with his little army behind him.

“Keep an eye on all our friends,” said Peter into the band on his wrist.

“Yeah,” Rocket answered through the comm. “Don’t worry. Nobody out here’s gonna _sneeze_ without me clocking it.”

_But that moment that I first laid Eyes. On. Him._

There was a short dark galley with a few benches and a table close to the middle of the ship. The walls were littered with cabinets and there were a few crates lined up beside them. It was almost too narrow, but not quite. Close quarters if they were all sitting down for a meal. And there, stacked up in front of them was a chair bolted to the floor. It had a few dark stains near its base and Peter ran up to it, skipping his finger across what had to be blood.

_Just like a white winged dove, sings a song sounds like she’s singing. Ooo, baby, ooo, ooo._

“Jeeze,” he whispered. “It’s still warm, though. That’s…good?”

“Let me see,” said Kraglin and pushed his way down next to Peter, inspecting the chair. He was the first to clock the restraints welded to the back and the shattered bonds. Kraglin touched them and smiled. “Yeah. He blasted his way out. Looks like he got himself good, too.”

“You sure he did that and not these crazy jerks who kidnapped him?” Peter asked.

“Nah. Say what you will, but without his arrow, Yondu’s not a great shot.” Kraglin looked around, poking a few of the weapons on the table in front of them. Nothing fancy. Nothing like that crazy arsenal they brought that first time. That just meant they had the good stuff with them upstairs. They'd have to be prepared. Peter opened a few cabinets above them as he heard Kraglin add, “And if you tell him I said that, I’ll space you quicker than a solar flair.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it.”

_Well, I went today maybe I will go again tomorrow._

Kraglin, deciding he was plain done with any detective work. If Yondu wasn't there, that just meant they had to move on and he headed over to the stairs with a blade in one hand and a blaster in the other. Peter got in line behind him, expecting to charge up like always when Gamora snaked a hand up to his shoulder, resting it there. He jumped, startled by her touch before he looked back and smiled.

“Why has nobody fired on us yet?” she asked, staring steely-eyed up the stairwell.

“Element of surprise?” Peter asked, but Gamora’s look meant that was a stupid assumption. “I dunno. They’ve either been knocked out by Yondu single-handedly or they’re...waiting in an ambush for us to climb the stairs.” Her eyebrows raised and Peter nodded, signaling for Kraglin to come back. “Right. Of course. The last one. Okay, back here.”

“What?” Kraglin asked and motioned up the stairs. “Just…let’s go and get ‘em. They know we’re already here.”

_Just like a white winged dove sings a song sounds like she’s singing._

“Yeah, no, I get that, but that’s not, like, the _smart_ thing to do.” Peter checked back with Gamora. “Is it?”

“No,” she answered.

“No. See?”

“I agree with your father’s close companion. I say we charge up the stairs and take them. They already know we’re here.”

“Don’t call him…listen, when we get back, let’s just go over names, okay? Okay? Cause I can’t…yeah, no, not the time. Uh, regroup guys, and let’s do this with some kinda plan or—”

“Don’t tell me how to go after the enemy, Pete. I been doin’ this long before we ever even grabbed ya.”

“Oh whatever, it’s not like you guys just run in without a plan and it all goes to shit. I recall us doin’ that literally all the time.”

_Sings a song._

“Yeah? And?”

“And! And, it’s stupid!”

_Sounds like she’s singing._

“It ain’t stupid if it ain’t ever failed us.”

“It failed you guys _so_ many times.”

“When?”

“Bebens Den.”

“Um, the song has ended,” Mantis muttered behind them. She looked down at the zune cradled carefully in her hand. Drax had sheathed his weapon and gave Mantis a shrug. “Should I…should I pick another?”

“Oh, don’t bring that shit-head up.”

“Okay, the Nova port on Siclar.”

“Yeah, _one_ safety protocol a solar cycle and we just happen to come during the review board meeting. That ain’t are fault.”

“Fint’s Job on Tairho.”

“Shut it, Pete. I know what yer tryin’ to pull here.”

“I can keep going,” said Peter, even as Gamora gripped his shoulder to seriously make him stop. It didn’t. He had a long list ready to lay out and Kraglin was going to hear all of them, even if it cost them their lives. “Xendu Wex, the first A’askavarian heist, the _second_ A’askavarian heist, that job with that one-armed Nudwa-bain guy, that—”

“We _will_ go on without you,” said Gamora and yanked Peter out of her way.

“Hey! You were the one who said 'we need a plan,' so, uh? What gives?”

"Yes, I meant a plan as to the order we might ascend, not to waste time on old missions."

"Yeah, but-"

"Peter!"

But Peter finally bit his tongue. She was right. This was absolutely the worst time to start dragging out all that old shit; the cause of most of it being their current rescue mission. He took a deep breath and finally looked back at Mantis, acknowledging her as she pointed at the Zune, which had finished up with the song and had shuffled on to Van Morrison serenading them with the fluty tune of “Everyone.” He smiled. “You know what? Don’t even change it. This is perfect. You guys ready?”

“Yes!” they answered in unison with varying degrees of excitement and resentment.

“Perfect. Let’s go get Yondu.”

*

“Yeah, no, I’m almost certain they’re all gonna die,” said Rocket, leaning back in the chair with his feet up on the armrest.

He had the display lit up in front of him, tuned in to the nearly invisible camera he’d managed to stick to Quill’s coat button near his collar. The comms worked well enough to get audio and everyone had their personal displays if they wanted to talk to him face on, but he wanted to see the action for himself and had bugged most of the Guardians at this point. It was a good show so far. Family squabbles. Honestly? Kinda pathetic, but would it really be Quill if it wasn’t? He popped a crunchy piece of ukir into his mouth, snapping the kernel between his teeth.

Groot eyed the bowl from his perch on the top of the chair before he finally wormed his way down into Rocket’s lap, reaching for the bowl. Rocket held it out of the way, thinking Groot was just trying to settle down, when the little Flora Colossus stretched out a bridge of vines and yanked the bowl closer to him.

“Hey, what’re you doin’ already?”

“I am Groot.”

“Listen, buddy, I don’t care about the please and thank yous as long as you tell me what you want. Okay?”

Groot yanked again and a few golden ukir tumbled out. Groot snatched them up and shoved them in his mouth, immediately frowning in disgust. Rocket held out his paw so Groot could spit the kernels out like he was firing a Gatling gun. Once they were all out of his mouth, Rocket shrugged and ate them anyways, because why should he care if Groot tried them first or not. Waste not, want not.

“I am Groot.” Groot held out his hands for the bowl again.

“You don’t even like them. You want I should go get your food?”

“I am Groot,” Groot answered, shaking his head and reaching for the bowl again.

Rocket sighed but he brought the bowl down and Groot put his who his whole face into the ukir. He came out munching too many pieces, his cheeks puffy and a prominent scowl on his face. “Okay, but don’t choke on that.”

Within seconds, Groot was spitting the ukir out again. Rocket figured they’d go on like this until the bowl was empty. He laughed despite himself and popped any stray ukir into his mouth as Groot struggled to enjoy the treat. If Rocket was having some, so would he. That was really the only explanation for his multiple attempts.

“I am Groot.”

“Cause I like ‘em salty,” Rocket answered. He chewed obnoxiously and Groot whipped three more pieces into his mouth again. Rocket just held out his hand when something beeped along the bottom of the screen in front of him, red alerts of something closing in on their perimeter. Rocket sat up and yanked the screen closer, tapping up quick displays of the intruders. “Oh boy. Groot, seatbelt.”

Groot climbed up Rocket’s chair, straining to see out of their front window. Pointless, because that Ipsision chick’s vehicle was blocking their sights. Rocket reached up for him and put him on the seat next to him, yanking a restraint across their torsos.

“Seatbelt,” he said again, adjusting the screens as he primed the Milano’s rudimentary weapons system.

“I am Groot!”

“There ain’t nothin’ to see anyhow. Here, watch this.”

Rocket tapped the screen up again and highlighted the tiny remote-piloted droids that were starting to swarm their underbelly. Hull rippers, just like he knew these stupid Tortak bastards would send out. Basically Junkers with all the net-trapping tech they had around their precious little moon base. Which Rocket was totally going to blow up when this was all said and done. He had Quill’s permission and everything. So.

Rocket had meant to update their perimeter defenses, but he figured he might as well get some target practice in. He had the screen tilted in close so Groot could watch too, and began opening fire on the swarm. The droids popped beneath them, lighting up just like the ukir kernels. Rocket shouted with a feral, murderous delight and cut through the hull rippers.

*

Abarnatasi shoved First Chor into a small dark space below the control panels before she dived over to the somewhat communal sleeping quarters there at the back of their cabin. While the idiots downstairs had managed to board when they were, in a word, distracted, she figured they were pretty easy to take out the first time and she could do it herself if she really needed to. But her cousin was a force to be reckoned with, _if_ he was up to reckoning, and keeping him hidden as a last ditch effort was her best plan. She slipped into the shadows behind Hemla’s hammock and Ja F’s cot, her blaster primed.

But the invasion didn’t come right away. They were just…talking? Abarnatasi glared at the cabin and at her companions stretched out on the floor in front of her. She saw First Chor there in the shadows and he flashed a quick question mark on his communication screen. Abarnatasi just shrugged and strained her hearing for when they might finally decide to come up. They were only giving her more time to prepare. More time for the others to recover, too. Why would someone like Captain Yondu Udonta run with these amateurs.

“Wake up,” she mouthed. Hemlo and Hemla should have recovered already, surely, but they were knocked clean out. More impressive was the fact that Ja F wasn’t stirring. She had to wonder if he was bleeding out and if they should have tended to him.

Abarnatasi started to get up from her hiding place, her ears prickling with the stress of listening down below, as she crawled over to her friends. Yondu Udonta had collapsed on top of them and she heaved, angrily shoving him out of the way. Even unconscious he was a thorn in her side. Abarnatasi made a fist, ready to strike him in the head. He deserved it, too. But she heard something come from their galley downstairs and she quickly patted the twins when she heard a low yawn behind them and the hiss of a seal being broken.

“Kipsi!” Abarnatasi whispered, racing over to their Luphamoid’s chamber as she crawled out of hibernation. “Kipsi, we’ve been boarded.”

“What?” Kipsi blinked slowly, focusing on the pile of bodies as she stretched her long languid arms above her head and scratched at her shaved scalp. Abarnatasi rushed her. Kipsi yanked her familiar black jacket from the hook in her hibernation tank and slipped into it, pushing two knives out of her sleeves as she worked her fingers through it. “I go down for one nap and it all goes to shit, huh?”

“Shut up,” Abarnatasi snapped. “Those idiots came for Udonta.”

“Told you they would,” Kipsi answered. “What happened?”

“Later,” Abarnatasi answered and shoved them back into the shadows as someone stomped up the stairs. It sounded like their whole crew was with them, far as they could tell, and Abarnatasi raised her weapon.

“Captain?”

“No, Kraglin, wait!”

The second Abarnatasi saw a face breach her eye line, she opened fire.

*

Drax ducked from the blaster shot, his face scorched but intact. He barreled ahead, arm raised to shield himself, and undid the dagger belted at his side. They all knew that they had spent too much time arguing downstairs to be able to charge ahead without some sort’ve return fire. Drax, with his scar-toughened hide, had the best bet of survival next to Gamora. He would not let her take _all_ the glory in this battle. Let her take out these insufferable thieves with her bare hands if she liked, but Drax threw himself up the stairs with much delight. Nice touch with the theatrics from Kraglin, but an unnecessary detail. Perhaps that is why he got shot in the head and not, say, the torso, which would have hurt less. He knew what this meant to the crew. He knew what this meant to Peter Quill. The fact that he had been shot meant that it saved Gamora’s face. And wouldn’t Peter enjoy that more? Yes, Drax was doing them as much a favor as he was doing one himself, because he really did enjoy the thrill of battle and drawing first blood, as it were.

The bridge to their ship was much more spacious than the Milano, even though the star skipper was, by far, an inferior craft. The Milano had space enough for all of them to crowd around if they wanted, but the star skipper stretched out in front of him with copilot chairs and a space that curved around back to spacious quarters. Drax charged ahead, leaping over a pile of bodies that was scattered in front of him. He did recognize the shape of their blue friend Udonta, but he was busy looking for something to sink one of his knives into instead.

There was another fired shot, this one glancing off his shoulder. Oh, it burned, it dug into his skin, it fried his nerves, and Drax relished in the pain. He pivoted in the cold empty space, looking down the line of a tough young woman pointing her blaster at his face. Her eyes flickered and when they did, he followed them to the sight of the crack in their window. Fairly easy to depressurize if they gave it the right knock.

There was no time to calculate how best to use that to his advantage, as the Luphomoid from earlier sprang out of the shadows, whirling two blades in her hand.

“Ah, yes!” Drax shouted, and met the girl’s blades with his own. “Fight me!”

The Luphomoid didn’t answer so much as scream, which Drax appreciated for its raw energy. The floor beneath them rumbled and he rushed on ahead, throwing the girl across the room. She slammed into a wall ungraciously, but she was quick to get back on her feet. Drax followed, meeting her blade each time, bellowing in her face. She did not appear to enjoy that as much as he did, but they moved about as honest foes. The floor, it moved for them as well. A quake to bring them to their knees if it wanted, and it almost did.

“Drax!” Peter Quill and Kraglin Obfonteri came out of the stairwell then. The woman Abarnatasi shot at them, of course, but she was one against two well-armed individuals and she slunk back to the little bunker she had in their expansive sleeping quarters. “Something’s happening outside with the ships.”

“I thought Rocket was dealing with that,” Drax answered. He picked up the Luphomoid girl again and held her above his head, ducking his head as she tried to claim one of his ears.

“He is, but, just, like, watch out, man.”

“I am watching,” Drax answered, assuring the girl he had his eyes on her. He looked up and smiled as the Luphomoid bared her teeth at him. Yes, this is the way things should be. Clear delineations of their alliances, physical prowess, excitement, and adrenaline. This is how it should be.

*

By the looks of things, it was only Abar and the gal with the knives were still able to fight. Not that they were to be underestimated by any means, but, hey, it was something. Peter went for Abar, of course, but she had dived down behind one of their cryo tube walls and had good cover. Peter watched Drax dancing with the Luphomoid, enjoying the hell outta it by the looks of things. He would. Peter kept his ground and fired at anything red coming from the cryo tube, giving Kraglin, Gamora, and Mantis the cover they needed to check on Yondu.

“How is he?” Peter asked, squatting a little to take some of the shock as the ship rumbled underneath them. Rocket said they had company, but he was absolutely 100% sure Rocket had it covered. Peter, for what it was worth, trusted him. Seriously. “He shoot himself like you said or what?”

“He’s hurt,” Kraglin shouted back. He was cradling Yondu’s head in his lap and looking down the long jagged line going across his chest, but Kraglin didn’t look like he was scared. Not that Kraglin was, like, crystal clear in his emotions or anything. He didn’t like to wear his heart on his sleeve. Peter had a habit of putting it on display _way_ too often, actually. “How much o’ that anti-dote we got left back on the ship?”

“Plenty,” Gamora assured him. She was busy picking apart the other three, careful not to prick herself on the Gvolo spikes. She did touch his wrist and counted, nodding before she climbed around him. “He’s dead,” she announced.

"What?" asked Peter, and turned to look at the body. Gamora only nodded as she started pulling at the net around the Krylorians. They all knew what that net could do and Gamora was intent on taking it before they woke up. "Oh man, I didn't think he'd died. What happened?"

“Ja F?” Abar shouted. The shooting stopped and Drax had the Luphomoid pinned to the ground, his hands snug around her neck. She was kicking at any of his organs she could reach to no avail.  “Hey! You lyin’ to me now or what?”

“Your friend is dead,” Gamora answered without even looking up.

It didn't seem fair. It didn't seem right the way dismissed it. Sure, they were all fighting each other with intent to kill, but it was still a crew. A family, of sorts. Peter could get that and the fact that one of them was dead just felt...wrong.

Peter wasn’t a mind reader or, well, or an ‘empath’ reader or anything. Not like Mantis. But when Gamora confirmed that the Gvolo guy was dead, Peter swore he could feel Abar’s cold grief then. It set on him like they’d opened a window. There was even a little tinge of blue in the air if he squinted just right. Drax didn’t flinch and Gamora didn’t stop looking around, but Peter felt it. It went right through his guts, just like a drill, and he took a step back to get away from it. Abar was curled up their behind her shelter. What was she thinking? What was she doing? Maybe that was more important. She didn’t radiate that sadness so much as released it. Like a bomb. It hurt down in his soul and he didn’t even know the guy. Peter touched his chest, wondering what the hell was happening, when he looked back to see Mantis weeping over the body.

“Hey,” he started, surprised his voice was all warbly, and he cleared his throat. His legs felt shaky, too, and he stumbled over towards her. What the hell? What the _hell?_ “Hey, we need to get her back to the ship. Mantis, I—”

He didn’t get another step closer. Wanted to, sure, but couldn’t. That weird cold feeling in his guts was replaced by hard metal, something tangible biting at his vitals. He felt a flash of shock go up his throat like it was molten lava or something and he tried to turn around to see what got him. The very first thing to flash through his mind was _I've been bit_ and he almost laughed at it. Bit. By what? But the feeling changed. It was bright and it was hot and it was _twisting._ That much he was certain of. His mouth was opening and closing as he tried to catch his breath. He'd been punctured good and it was impossible to breathe. What happened? His legs were all icy and useless then. Peter sort’ve felt a hand on his shoulder to keep him in place and he was mildly aware that they were twisting whatever it was in his back.  _Shit! I didn't mean...._ He flapped his arm feebly against nothing. It was painful in its speed, it was terrible in its efficiency, and he wanted to cry just to get the feeling out of his throat, but he didn't. Abar’s little mute friend let go and Peter dropped to his knees, then onto his stomach, revealing the blade buried in his lower back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I forget that Kipsi was part of their crew? No! Shut up!
> 
> Thanks again for reading. Hugs and kisses from me to you.


	9. Am I Dying?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Gang blows up a starskipper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy tits you guys, where has the time gone? Just? JUST??? Anyways, sorry about the delay, I've been doing the Kragdu Big Bang and working on Nanowrimo and just all the projects, but I am so glad to finally get something on this. It was, oddly, a bitch to get it started, but, hey, we made it! More to come, I promise, I'm not abandoning this.

“Peter!” Gamora was first to react. Thanos’s daughter leapt up from her careful perch over the Krylorian Twins’ net, reaching out to catch good ol’ Star Lord there as he went down, felled at the ankles like a tree. She cradled him about the chest before his head slammed into the floor. Good thing too. Pete’s brains didn’t need to get anymore rattled than they was.

That boy got rattled plenty when he was young. Thumped on the head. Beat up in hallways and the mess hall and on the M-ships between planets. Found him in Med Bay with a split lip and a bruised eye more times than he could  count. Broke both arms during a raid on Anbough. Found him sitting on the edge of the bed and humming a tune whenever Kraglin came outta some life-saving last minute surgeries too. Found him hovering over Kraglin’s controls on the M-ship when Pete was learning to fly. Found him in Yondu’s shadow. Found him with the crew back on the Eclector like they was family and with his own crew too, a proper captain in his damn rattled brain. Found him with his jackass dad who done wanted to drain him like he was some kinda battery. Found him in the cold, in the empty of space, weeping. _Sonuvabitch, Pete._

Kraglin was crouched down behind one of the chairs, holding his knife in one hand as he eyed the scene. They had that Ipsision gal standing front and center, blaster trained firmly on Gamora and Peter as her little mute friend stood nearby. He had a blade in hand and it was wet from tip to hilt with Pete’s blood. Dripping down to the floor. He was breathing hard, but his eyes were steady and mean and fixed. Boy knew how to kill. Boy knew how to take care of himself. Kraglin figured they’d have to knock his ass out the airlock if they were ever going to best him.

Yondu was still spread out on the floor next to the twins. He was breathing even under his flimsy beach shirt, his eyes still closed.

 _C’mon, sir,_ Kraglin thought, working a knot outta his throat. _C’mon! I know you can get up. Poison don’t work on you same as others_. And this was true. Yondu was thankful for the one and only thing gifted to him by his dear sweet mommy and daddy. Aint nobody yet figured out how to properly poison a damn Centaurian. Yondu’s metabolism burned through most poisons and venoms and sleep aids and alcohol and such faster than you’d expect. Kraglin had tried it a few times, both out of necessity and just damn curiosity. He was only trying to get his captain to sleep when he did, ‘specially when the big blue idiot had to get stitches on his back after getting cut open by a V’glak’tak. Ugly, slimy, slippery buggers.

“Peter!” The name was a jolt, a livewire shock that penetrated deep and held onto his brain stem. When Gamora screamed it, they listened. They all done listened. Even Yondu tremored some when he heard his boy’s name called.

Yondu.

He moved. Kraglin could’ve wept.

*

There was all kinds of shouting. Big old ruckus of a fight blooming overhead, drilling in through his ears like tiny mites who just wouldn’t quit. Meant they were all distracted and Yondu spared himself a quick glance round the room. He tried his damndest not to move. Not that he much wanted to with his head singing a familiar old song.

Headache. Always seemed to be a headache he were waking to these days. Yondu didn’t groan, just wrinkled his brow as he stretched his hearing to the room around them. He’d already burned through the Gvolo poison and he came outta it with a sting in his skull as a parting gift. The headache could just be from getting socked in the jaw, though. That certainly hurt.

“Everybody!” The Ipsision gal shouted back, putting a freeze on the room. “Drop. Your. Weapons.”

Somebody shouted, a roar ripped from their chest. That big fella, Drax, tossed the young Luphomoid across the room and slammed her back against a metal chute. The Luphomoid screamed on impact, crumpling in a heap. Drax grabbed her up by the throat and as he did, stopped. Suddenly. Like he’d been electrocuted again. He slowly put the unconscious woman down and raised his hands.

“I said, ‘drop yer weapons,’” said Abar, this time almost singing it as a threat. Drax lowered himself and put his hands on his bald head as the mute one pressed a blade into the nape of his neck. Just resting it there, not cutting him, but prepared to do so. “You all think yer big damn heroes, don’t ya? Coming in to rescue this blue piece of shit like he’s important to ya, huh?” Abar turned and pointed her weapon at Mantis. The little buglin there had shifted, and caught Abar’s eye. “Ah ah, darling. Whatever yer thinking, I s’spect you put an end to it now.”

Mantis didn’t whimper none. He had to respect that, he really did. But the gal was stupid as she was ugly and she stood up now with Abar holding a proper blaster trained on her chest like a chain.

“Don’t,” said Abar, low and mean. She chocked on the word some. Yondu couldn’t help but curl a tiny portion of his mouth up into a smile. “ _Don’t_.”

Mantis didn’t.

But Yondu did.

Kid with a knife was one thing, but Yondu had a damn blaster on him. And he didn’t need a good shot. He cracked open his eye and raised his arm towards the window ahead of them, at that tiny fucking crack spreading out across the view. Didn’t have the failsafe nanotech repair on this dingy little starskipper. He jerked his arm up before anybody could say shit and opened fire.

*

The hull cracked.

*

_I think I’m dying._

What a wonderfully weird thing to think. Although, to be honest, weird shit was, like, his go to move. Weird shit was the best kinda shit. Had some authenticity to it, if nobody else got it. Had some _soul_ in it.

You know who had _soul_? Aretha Franklin obviously, for one, and the Smiths for two. But also all the children before him, the ones who were collected, brought up to a big old planet they didn’t rightly understand, gifted with the idea of meeting their father and then plugged into his big wiggly electrical tentacles of doom. They had soul. They had souls and lives and laughter, probably. Yondu brought them? They probably had laughter and tears, just remembering how his youth went.

_And if a double-decker bus crashes into us._

If he had it, that energy, that power, maybe he could’ve done something with it. Something bigger than a ball to toss around with a bastard who didn’t dare know how to love him. Maybe he could’ve built monuments to his mother and a whole damn ship bigger and better than the eclector for his father and….

His.

_To die by your side is such a heavenly way to die._

There wasn’t anything to move. Not really. Peter was just sort’ve floating in nothing and for all the time he’d actually been in space, mostly everyone had their grav pumps activated and he didn’t get a chance to feel that weightless. So. Dreams do come true.

Except, while floating there and thinking and dreaming and repeating “There is a Light That Never Goes Out” in his head like the damn earwig it was, he felt a terrible need to cry start to build in him. And since he didn’t have arms or legs or eyelids to speak of, that feeling didn’t fade. It invaded him. It struck him through the chest. It electrified all his nerves. It shook him to his very core, vibrating under him like a ship suddenly becoming depressurized. And it weighed on him, like a body flung over his to protect it from being sucked out into space. Very. Very specific feelings, actually. Very real, very actual feelings. Very.

“Peter,” someone called from a long ways away. If he went towards the sound, it was only pain. If he went away from the sound, it was only loss. He wasn’t really sure which suffering he could stomach right then.

Stomach.

Y’know, he hadn’t had a damn meal in forever either. They really should go out for food after all this. He could take Mantis to that little dinner on the Yeil Asteroid, the one where they served those “Almost-Burgers” as Peter called them. And they were good, those “Almost-Burgers.” Gamora liked them, even if she didn’t say it. It’d be fun to share that with his new baby sister.

So many children.

She’d probably laugh and say something weird, but it’d be genuine in its weirdness. They could blast their toons, too, since the cook there seemed to take a shine to Peter and his crew and they had an understanding. That understanding being that Terran music was the best, and he was there as an ambassador of said music to the galaxy.

So many souls.

_I think I’m dying._

God. What a weird, weird though to have. Peter floated some more, having that thought, stuck with The Smiths on mental repeat. So weird. So cold. So weird.

*

“I told you, didn’t I? I said they’d all certainly end up dead, didn’t I?”

Rocket had to detach the Milano from the starskipper. He had a drone flying around Abar’s little shit boat and it flashed a red light on his display pad while he was carving up the hull rippers. Damn things almost actually scratched the paint job and he felt like they should pay for that little indiscretion. But the red light alarm caught his eye and he did what he needed to swoop them around to the front as whoever managed to shoot out the glass depressurized the whole ship.

Bodies were not the first thing to come out the window. Debris, furniture, some nonsense weaponry that could probably be improved if he felt like collecting, which Rocket did not. He was many things, but he was not a Junker. Wouldn’t claim himself as one neither.

“These idiots,” Rocket mumbled. His whole bowl of ukir was tipped over and useless to him now. “Groot, wouldya just sit? For, like, seven seconds or something?”

“I am Groot!”

“Yer _not_ sitting!” Rocket answered. He punched a few buttons on the screen, flipped the toggles to steady the engines, and put the Milano’s hatch right in front of the open window, sliding it open with a quick flick of his wrist. “Alright, come to papa. Oh, hey. They _did_ get Papa!”

Rocket laughed when he saw several bodies sucked out of the front of the star skipper. There was a flash of green, of red, of grey. Skinny little Luphomoid chick and the pink Krylorians leaping through space like ticks off a rodent’s backside. And there was old Blue himself. Kraglin was strapped around his waist with his arms holding on tight, and the two went from one ship to the other like a dart. No time spent wasted out in space. Rocket hovered a moment, waiting to see if anything else was going to join them.

“We all aboard?” he asked over the comm. Nobody had a response for them and that was all fine and well and good, since they’d just been out in the void and all that, but give a man a rope or something. Rocket hovered a bit, waiting. Waiting. Wait—s

“Rocket, go!” Gamora yelled.

Good enough for him.

Rocket closed the hatch completely and turned away from the useless starskipper. He hovered over the Garblax gate into the moon base of the Tortak. Tortak sonsabitches who think they can steal people as they like and ruin families and build a hoity-toity moon base like they think they’re better than everybody. Well. They’re not!

“And just this one for the road,” Rocket muttered quietly as Groot grabbled next to him, tossing the seat belt further away. “Groot. C’mon. C’mon.”

“I am Groot.”

Rocket just sneered, shaking his head at the vulgar retort. Kid had a damn way with words. But he wasn’t gonna feed into it. Instead, he turned his attention in front of them and pulled a joystick up by his left thigh.

“Yeah. Well. Chew on this.”

Rocket released a button and the Milano hummed, powering up something below them. Nobody had time to get up to the cabin if they _really_ wanted to, like they were going to stop him or something. They couldn’t at this point. They could come up for the show. Rocket stood up a little in his chair, his ears perked, as a blue blast of light shot out and struck the Garblax gate. It shattered, sparking into a million glittery pieces around the blue beam that didn’t quit. Not until it struck the moon. There was a crack. A yellow line shivering over the surface, a moment to breath and wait, until the moon exploded. Rocket just grinned, almost brought to tears at the sight.

“I am Groot,” Groot said softly next to him, standing on the arm rest.

“Yeah,” Rocket answered, and put a hand on the little guy’s back. “Yer right.”

It was really fucking beautiful.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys. You guys, Rocket got to blow up the moon! I'm so proud (we won't think of the thousands of people he killed, let him just have this damnit).


	10. Gonna Be Alright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whaaaaaaaaaaat the fuck is happening in the cargo hold?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where am I? Who are you?? Holy shit it's been so long since I worked on anything!

Gamora wheeled back around, holding up her knife as the two shaky Ipsisions moved. They were coughing, gasping, floundering. So were the others, but a short trip out into the void was hardly a thing to slow her down. There were alterations to her skeletal structure, implants in her limbic systems, her nervous system rewired, her muscles reshaped, her cells torn apart and put together for the sole purpose of perfection in the eyes of the man who would call himself her father. The void was nothing. The Ipsisions were nothing. The peace of sleep was nothing. She stood, ignoring a muscle deep pain up her side, and extended the blade towards them.

“Do not even _think_ about doing anything,” she said, spitting the words out at them.

But they were not wise creatures. Many weren’t.

Abarnatasi and her pet with the knife were a threat, obviously. A violence had been done to them, something in the past, and if they were better friends than this, they might share some bond in the horrors inflicted by others. They did not share a bond. The mute boy rose first. He was younger. He was stronger. And he was meaner, by far. When he shot up, the ship tipped from the aftershock of the moon blasted below them, slamming him against of the crates still in their meager cargo hold to deliver to the Walallamar people on Nova’s R115-J-D67-Dersi Vai Outpost. He should have crumbled, but he took the blow in stride and went up for the attack.

Gamora went to meet him. She sliced her blade in a practiced swing, cutting him in half. Well, certainly trying to cut him in half. The idea had ben sound, but the boy ducked and dodged, deflected and deviated from her rigid plans of his future. Which was death.

Oh, if they could pause and sit and think, she might see that her violence was a shield to her heart for seeing Peter injured. She might see that this came from Thanos and not her true self, that delicate child buried deep, _deep_ in the darkness of her ribcage.

Peter.

He didn’t even move.

So Gamora moved.

“What’s going on down there anyhow?” Rocket snarled across the comm link speaker in the cargo. “Yer all missing the best damn show in the universe.”

She should answer him, but the Ipsision boy was proving somewhat a match for her knife skills. She growled and gritted her teeth, hacking at him harder. Take his head. Take a limb. Anything to prove she had fought for Peter, surely, truly.

Drax was the first of her people to stir. He was close at hand, already getting to his feet, already making decisions. Mantis moaned, coming too after him. The bug had proved she could take quite a beating after that meteor fell on Ego’s planet. The thing should have killed her, but, here she was, rubbing a spot of yellowish-green skin on her cheek.

“Drax.” Gamora had to take a defensive stance against the boy, using her sword to try and flick his knife away.

Drax didn’t need instructions beyond that. He was foolish and hot headed and impulsive, but she could trust him to go after Abarnatasi. He was a fighter. He was a warrior. The blood song sang in his vens same as it did hers. All he needed was to catch her eye, see the twitch of displeasure in her mouth. And he was on the tall bitch like blood on ice.

This was easier. Now Abarnatasi and First Chor’s attentions were split on each other and the person attacking. They fumbled and started moving closer together. The plan, it was obvious, was to have each other’s backs. Literally. Drax rushed Abarnatasi and slammed into her core, knocking the wind out of her. He meant to flip her over her back, but she scrambled to hold on, driving her knee up. Good. Try. Drax took the blows and laughed. Gamora felt First Chor’s blade bite her forearm. Good. Try. She took the blow and yelled.

“Stop.”

The voice was soft, so sweet and quiet it was hardly a voice at all. They should not have heard it, but it soothed them, sinking into their bodies.  Gamora no longer had to press back on First Chor to keep his knife out of her organs. Drax no longer had to close his eyes before Abarnatasi plucked them out with her fingers. Yondu and Kraglin even relaxed, still knocked out cold in their desperate heap of limbs and nets, the kryolrian twins beside them, the body of a useless Gvolo, the luphomoid.

It was not Mantis who said the command.

There was a soft, painful white glow emanating from the man standing in the center of their cargo hold. He had raised his arms, holding them out to the crowd as if offering them to take. His hair rippled slightly, almost comedic if not for the absolute awe and terror that his sudden presence presented. The light was just bright enough that his features were obscured, that he was more a glowing outline than a person.

“What. What is this?” Abarnatasi asked, breaking the silence that had followed.

“Stop.”

There was a perfect, beautiful calm now. Mantis stood up, clearly weeping, her antennae aglow above her head as she clasped her hands tightly. She, above all else, understood this. Gamora wanted to understand, she did, but she dropped her sword and felt herself settle, dropping down to her knees, even, if just for a moment. Abarnatasi and First Chor followed, slumping low, dropping their weapons. Drax didn’t exactly smile, but he seemed content as he placed restraints on them, taking his time. He was, in that moment, very gentle. He did the same to the twins, stretching them out carefully. The luphomoid girl was last.

Kraglin sat up as soon as the luphomoid was moved. He raised his hand and the soft blue light enveloped him, like it was swallowing him. He made a few awkward squawks of disapproval before he settled back, sitting there quietly. They could all hear him ask it above the thrum of energy emanating from the man.

“Pete? The seven hells ya doin’?”

Apparently that was enough. The light sucked back in with a violent twist, pulling back into Peter’s limbs like turning a switch off, and he fell forward. Gamora caught him. At least this time she could do that.

\---

“You idiots realize he’s still Ego’s kid, right?”

“Yes, I realize. I just did not think—”

“Well, see? Cause ya never do, do ya?”

“I could take your head clean off, Rocket, you know I could.”

“Oh, look! She finally knows my name. That hurt or what, Green Bean, cause—”

“I do not think this is helping.”

“Listen, bug, the grownups are talking? Okay? So why don’t you just—”

“But he should not have possession of his power. Ego’s core was destroyed in the blast.”

“Yeah. I know. We were there, right? We were _all_ there, okay? So don’t—”

“Rocket.”

“No, so, don’t think you can just come up in here, right, and act like you’re this big—”

“Rocket!”

“ _What_!”

“I am Groot.”

 “Hey, boy. Can ya hear me?”

\---

He could. But, like, not that he could say anything or anything. God, he really wish he could. This was some real tables turned bullshit now. Maybe Yondu had been able to hear him back when he was stuck in the med bay, recovering from depressurization and void sickness. Of all the voices swimming around in the darkness, Yondu’s came through the clearest. It was like a stab of light. Well, okay, or maybe not light. You know who had a bunch of light? He did, apparently. Shooting out of his body. Seriously? How in the hell does that even happen?

Peter sighed. Or, well, internal Peter sighed. Like, there was no body to answer him right then, or, like, the body that was his was just lying around like dead weight. It happened. A lot, actually, which was kinda annoying, but, whatever. He wasn’t feeling restless or anything.

_Put on some music, please, for the love of God._

As if some brilliant person in the room could read his mind, music started to drift through the barrier of conscious and unconscious mind. It was something soft, sweet; had a slow beat to it. Dancing music. _Slow_ dancing music. Aw, man, was he ever going to wake up and slow dance again? He missed that. He missed being able to catch Gamora in a quiet time between running errands and being badasses and saving the galaxy and all that shit. He’d run up behind her, music audible from his orange-foam head phones. He’d take her hand and place his hand ever so gentlemanly on the small of her back—yeah, fine, he cupped her ass like once, alright? Alright, you feel better about yourself?—and he’d start turning with her to the music. It was absolutely perfect.

And now he couldn’t even move his damn arms!

_Oh my god, just kill me. Seriously? Seriously, just kill me._

_Well, you can’t die if you’re_ Immortal.

_Ugh, don’t think that. Don’t even say that. I’m nothing like him, man, alright? I’m not—_

_You shot_ light _. Out of your_ body _. You’re Ego’s s—_

_No. No I’m not. I’m not his son. Shut up, brain. I don’t need your shit right now._

_Dude, I’m the only shit to give around here, alright? You’re stuck. So deal with it._

Damnit, though, he wanted to dance.

\---

The restrains were nicer than they had been in the star skipper, that was for damn sure.  They could even put up a partilyzed barrier between them and the airlock, if they so desired, placing them in a more exclusive jail. Abarnatasi was shackled up to the front, the one of them still standing after everything. Didn’t know they’d have a damn diety aboard, but, hey, nothing had gone right about all this. She knew. She understood the plans were flawed and her vengeance was laid like so much rubble at her feet. Damn waste of energy and she’d ruined any chance with a pretty little thing like….

“Well, hello.” Abarnatasi cocked her hip as Mantis approached the makeshift cell. “What’re ya doin’ back here, darling?”

Mantis had her hands gently clasped in front of her, head tipped down so that the black and green sheet of hair cupped her face just so. She was no longer wearing that swim suit getup she had on during their first encounter. The hat was gone. The sheer scarf tied around her waist missing. She was more put together, pieced together maybe. Less skin showing. Well, beggars can’t be choosers, no matter how much Abarnatasi wished that wasn’t the case.

“It has taken some work and would have been easier if Gamora would allow me to touch her,” Mantis started, her head bobbing a little through each word. “But I think I have convinced them not to turn you over to the Nova Corp for processing.”

“What was that?” Abarnatasi turned on the pivot of the metal restraints. “You convinced them…how? More importantly, _why_?”

Mantis dipped her head further, and her cheeks were nearly hidden by her hair, but Abarnatasi could see a girl blush from a mile off. She smiled. Despite everything, truly, she smiled.

“I think it is important that you return to your home. You have an opportunity to start fresh. And my brother….” Mantis pushed her hair off one cheek, smiling enough to crinkle her big dark eyes just a freckle. It was so cute, Abarnatasi wanted to kiss her just then. Just so. She sighed at the missed opportunity. “He is kind. I know in his heart that he is sorry for the loss of one of your crew.”

Ja F. That. Soured things, a little. Abarnatasi made a noncommittal sound, shifting again. Her Tortak empathy mark went flirtatious pink to a dull, sad, grayish-blue.

“He hopes that you will take this opportunity to improve.”

“Improve what?” Abarnatasi asked, spitting the words. “Ain’t got the units to fix up mama’s place. Ain’t sure how to keep truckin’ along and payin’ my own. Think yer _brother_ would do us a better kindness to just toss us to the Kiln and be done with us.”

“No,” Mantis said softly, looking up at last.

“No?”

“No, that is not the answer. To this.”

She looked over at the little keypad and, ever so slowly, stretched an arm, typing in a short code. The yellow barrier fell in front of them. Abarnatasi braced herself against the worst, standing taller, taking a studying breath. Mantis stepped up and, again, with such grace and gentleness, she touched Abarnatasi’s cheek.

“Love,” she said in a hopeful whisper.

“Love?”

What in the rotten bloody hells of….

\---

This was a whole damn mess he just didn’t wanna understand, so he didn’t. Yondu lounged back in a chair, one they stole of the Quadrant after a quick stop, checking over their listing ship to make sure nobody had done anything stupid to it. The Guardians of the I Don’t Think About Protecting The Damn Ship That I Use As a Port One Damn Bit. He had words for them, but the Quadrant was safe and, for now, he was a little more occupied.

They kept Quill on the Milano. It was stupid, the Quadrant had a better med bay, but that pretty lil’ bug gal said his spirit or whatever was doing better while he was laying on the Milano and seven blue hells, he was gonna roll with it. It was a smaller space. Meant less people could stop by and visit, and Yondu had his arrow back with him, so he could threaten a mean whistle to get everyone to scatter if he had to. Which he did, when he wanted to sit and watch. They were all bickering nonsense of why and how he managed to glow like a deluvian sun spinner, but the fact of the matter was he was still healing and they could all shove off. That was his boy. He was taking guard. End of discussion.

The room was quiet. There was a monitor and a little machine for pumping oxygen, an IV bag of synth-saver simuglobin blood. That Terran brat had a heck of a time getting blood transfusions when he was younger, the handful of times that he’d needed it. Yondu realized now that a few of those times should’ve killed him outright. Shoulda had a dead brat to bury. But, the kid turned out to be immortal. Go figure. He wondered, scratching at the patch of silver hair on his chin, if that immortality was still there. If Ego’s powers were still lying dormant in his system. Hells, they killed the celestial. Peter could still _die_. But that was an ugly thought and Yondu didn’t want to entertain it.

“Ya done somethin’ stupid again, boy,” he said, his chin tucked down and his eyes closed as he rocked a little back in the chair. His arms were crossed and he was all tucked up, keeping himself warm in that cold little closet of a space. “Only this time I don’t even rightly know what kinda stupid ya did. Or how t’ pull ya outta it.”

Oh but that did hurt something deep in his chest. It surely did. He massaged it with his palm, like he was rubbing out heartburn.

“Think I don’t know reckless, son? That were nothin’ but a reckless act of showmanship if I ever saw one.” He wasn’t yelling, but seven hells did he sound angry. “Thinkin’ you can just burst off in a cloud of light, huh? Like ya got somethin’ to prove? You aint’ got nothin’ to prove to me, boy. Nothin’.” Yondu tucked his chin down more and spoke real low. “I just want my boy back.”

There was a soft knock on the door and a tall beanpole taking up space before Yondu even lifted his head to bark at them to shove off. Kraglin had found himself back in his old clothes, and it was a great comfort seeing them Ravager Red leathers all belted up around him.

“Cap’n,” he said, nodding his head, shrugging in the entryway.

“Don’t ‘Cap’n’ me right now,” Yondu snarled. “I don’t need that shit. This is his boat anyhow.”

“Nah,” said Kraglin and came in, stepping up behind him so he could put his hands on Yondu’s shoulders. Yondu leaned into the forearm there by his ear, grabbing Kraglin’s wrists. “Yer always gonna be cap’n.”

“Shut up,” Yondu said with a laugh, rubbing his thumb across Kraglin’s skin.

“If you two start makin’ out, I’m gonna barf.” Peter groaned weakly from the bed, trying his damndest to lift his arm and cover his eyes. Yondu dropped his hands, reaching out for his boy’s arm, avoiding the tubes of medicine dripping down into him.

“We made out plenty o’ times in front of you,” Kraglin said, leaning over Yondu, his hands still firmly attacked to those blue shoulders.

“Yeah, and I barfed every time,” Peter said, his voice thick and tired. “My stomach hurts real bad right now, Kraglin. Don’t tempt me.”

Yondu laughed harder, touching his forehead to Peter’s arm. And it felt alright. It felt alright again. They were all gonna be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have one more chapter after this and hopefully it won't be literal MONTHS before it gets posted what the hell happened? Anyways, have this cute, I don't know. Thanks? For reading? You're awesome!


	11. Not Even Goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time to go, and parting is such sweet sorrows. But also, Abar, get the hell off the ship and be gone. Mantis made a bargain, Peter tries to score a kiss, and look at what Rocket found, no way!

“I’m literally just saying. This is the _stupidest_ thing we’ve done.”

“Yeah, but only, like, for this week,” Peter answered, lounging back in the copilot chair while Rocket guided them down to the planet.

“I’d put it up to a full month, Star Munch. Hell, make it two. Two full months of just plain awful stupid. And this is the stupidest.”

“Okay, I still don’t think ‘stupidest’ is actually a word,” Peter offered in good humor.

“If it ain’t a word, then why yous sayin’ it and why am I sayin’ it and why is all our fancy little translator chips sayin’ it back to us like we can suddenly understand exactly what I mean?”

Peter shrugged, twisting his hands behind his head so he didn’t have any itch to take the controls back. Even though the Milano was absolutely his ship, without question, 100%...he figured Rocket was being mostly good about this and he could fly because he liked it so damn much.

“I guess you’re right, Rocket,” Peter answered at last. He twisted back to see Gamora standing at the rear chair, looking out at the pearl of a planet below them. “How’s our crew doing?”

Gamora slid her eyes towards him, giving him a friendly, if composed nod of her head. “They are all ready and accounted for,” she said, before her eyes slid back to the view. “Even if this is the stupidest thing you’ve done.”

“What?” Peter asked, half explosion, half laughter. “I thought you’d be all for this.”

“Mm.” Gamora lifted an eyebrow, that perfect little checkmark on her brow, and turned to take the steps back down to the hold.

“Oh my god, she’s still pissed about all of this?”

“I am Groot.”

“No,” Rocket said, snickering in his seat. He eased the joystick to the left, angling down closer to the planet. “No, that ain’t it.”

“It wasn’t even my idea!” Though, of course, Peter had agreed to it when he heard it. It made sense and it definitely spoke to some part of him, deep down, under all the confusing _whatever_ that had happened recently, that this was the right thing to do. “What’re we just supposed to call up Nova Prime and be like ‘hey, I got these guys, would it be super cool if I bring them to the Kiln for you?’”

“Kiln’s not the only place they got to lock people up,” Rocket offered with a shrug.

“I am Groot.”

“Yeah, and yer _not_ supposed to know about that one,” Rocket said, nudging Groot next to him. “I gotta quit showing you old photos. Like, that’s it, buddy, alright?”

“I am Groot!”

“No, especially not those ones.”

“I am Groot?”

Peter sulked in the chair, sitting back and tapping his chin while Rocket and Groot argued. Maybe argued? There was definitely some weird plan brewing between them and if Peter was paying attention, he probably could have stopped some dastardly event in the future concocted by the two and saved them about thirty thousand units in hospital fees, but he wasn’t. He was pouting. He was chewing on the tips of his index fingers as he wondered what exactly Gamora was thinking and why she was so mad at him. She was always so mad at him. It wasn’t fair, actually.

“Go talk to her, man,” Rocket said, just as Peter started muttering to himself.

“What? I’m not gonna—“

“We’re here already. I gotta find a place to sit down. You see all these tourists they got rolling in? Just. Like. Go talk to her.”

Peter tapped his fingers across his biceps, weighing out the options, before he shoved off the chair and stomped down the steps into the belly of the Milano.

There were a few hiding places one might get away from the bulk of the cargo hold or the little mess area/everything else it turned into that people congregated in. Peter had sectioned off an area that was his bedroom because, and he could be quoted many times on this: “It’s my goddamn ship, you guys! I get this one thing! This _one_ thing! Oh my god, now I know why Yondu had that stupid biometric plate on his door…. Shut up, Rocket.”

Peter nodded at Yondu, Kraglin, and Drax sitting at the table, each of them cleaning some weaponry or patching up a jacket. Kraglin and Drax were the ones cleaning, bent over machines with too many parts littered between them and an intimate understanding of where everything was supposed to go. They weren't as tech savvy as Rocket. They couldn't just pick up junk and slap it together. But what they did know, they knew well. Yondu was sewing. That wasn't even weird, it just was. They each glanced up as Peter came down and jerked a thumb towards his “bedroom.”

“She’s pissed,” Kraglin said, blowing across a small rectangular piece before he slapped it back into the blaster he was cleaning.

“Can ya even blame her?” Yondu asked with his big shiny sewing needle darting into the bottom half of an old Ravager coat he’d found amongst Peter’s valuables. Peter didn’t even remember having that jacket and thought about asking about it, but he had other issues to attend. “With this idjit?”

“Not right now, Yondu.” Peter pointed at him, paused, and turned around. “Or, you know what, right now. Okay I—”

“Yer stalling,” Yondu said without looking up.

“Stalling? _Stalling_? The only thing I’m doing is—”

“Stalling, yes,” said Drax, wiping his blade across the whet stone. He was less about field stripping a blaster and more about blades, as per usual. But there was some trap equipment laid out in front of him that he had clearly been tinkering with. He turned his blade back and forth, catching a glint of light in Peter’s eye. He hissed and shielded his eye with a hand. “That is very clear, is it not?”

“You guys are the worst,” Peter grumbled, scrubbing the spot of stars from his vision as he turned towards his bedroom and just about barged in. Thought better. Definitely thought better, and knocked gently before he opened it and stuck his head in. “Hey, Gamora?”

“Yes,” she asked from across the small room—hey, he got his own bedroom, but it wasn’t exactly a resort suite. There was only so much space on a frickin’ _spaceship_.

Gamora was standing on the other side of his bed, fists on her hips, looking at the wall. Oh, so she was thinking. Peter pursed his lips and slid in the room, shutting the door behind him.

“Hey,” Peter said again. “Uh, so, you’re mad. And that’s okay,” he amended quickly, holding out his hands. “But, could you, maybe, uh…tell…me? Why?”

“I’m not mad,” she answered simply, crossing her arms. He could see her shift her weight from one foot to the other, but she still wouldn’t look at him.

“Okay, so, you’re not mad. That’s good?”

“It is,” she answered. She flexed some of her ringed fingers and was digging into her biceps. “Is there something you needed?”

Peter was slowly walking around the bed towards her, his hands still out. He was almost crouching, like he was ready to spring back if Gamora decided to, oh, let’s say draw out her arm sword and cut his head off or shoot him in the stomach or literally anything a highly trained assassin would be capable of, really. He was almost next to her, tiptoeing with his best tip toes, when she grabbed his hand and yanked up.

“I can hear you a mile away, Peter,” she said, finally turning to face him.

“Okay, okay!” Peter said, wincing at the strain of having his arm lifted up from his bad shoulder. Gamora saw the pain on his face, that it was real and not his usual ploy at acting weak to get her affections. She dropped his hand immediately, touching his arm.

“Oh, Peter, I’m sorry,” she said softly, looking for the bandages beneath his clothes.

“No, it’s okay, Gamora, seriously.” He drew his hand back and held it against his chest, letting himself settle. “Seriously, I’m fine.”

“You’re not. Sit. I wasn’t thinking about your wound. I was thinking about—”

“It’s seriously fine,” he said again, laughing a little and taking her hand back. “Look, I’m, like, I’m always a fast healer, okay? Y’know? It’s just another scar, like. It’ll be gone before you know it.” He grinned, happy to see she didn’t jerk out of his hold this time.

“Yes,” she answered. It wasn’t immediately apparent she was scowling, of course, but Peter knew. He could see it. He could read her like a book…sometimes. Rarely. Okay, but now he could, he decided, and he rubbed his thumb across her hand. “It’s because of your father,” she said and Peter nearly deflated right there. “What?”

“What do you mean, 'what?' I don’t want anything to do with him,” he said, finally sitting on the bed. He didn’t let go of her, not really, but he didn’t pull her close either. “I didn’t want the Light, alright? I don’t want, like…whatever that is inside me? I thought it was all gone when we killed him.”

“Just because he’s dead and his core destroyed does not mean it erases the DNA he has given you.”

“I know _that_. But it, like, it disappeared. I could feel it disappear when he was gone. He melted in my hands and I thought ‘good. Good! This is over.’ And now…?” Peter flopped back on the bed and grimaced as his back touched the mattress. He rolled over to his good shoulder, leaving his back exposed to Gamora. Exposed wasn’t the right word. Exposed was absolutely the right word.

Gamora took advantage of it, coming up onto the bed and crawling in behind him. He was hurt and she was scared of seeing him hurt, thinking that perhaps all the times he had committed some insane feat of bravery, he was only saved from the impossible power of his father lying dormant. And that, after the death of Ego, that power was gone. That Peter was vulnerable again. That she could lose him forever. But he had the Light, it seemed, and she had to feel some small amount of happiness that Peter was as resilient as ever. But the implications were…daunting. It hurt. She didn’t want to face it as badly as Peter didn’t want to, so she slid up behind him and gently wrapped an arm around his torso, taking space where she had never done so before.

“Now,” she said quietly into the nape of his neck. “Now, we move forward. As ever.”

Peter didn’t flinch a muscle, but he hardly breathed when Gamora lay down behind him. His mind had that little surge of hormonal release, of course. A knee-jerk _holy shit, dude, make a move, the girl of your dreams is cuddling up to you, like, go for the big kiss or die you idiot!_ But he knew he didn’t really want that right now. Not yet, at least. He sighed out the captive breath and picked up his own arm to trap hers gently beneath it, easing into the embrace. They stayed that way a moment, breathing in, breathing out, enjoying it immensely, when the floor beneath them bounced a little from the landing.

“Ah,” said Gamora, still not moving. “It seems we’ve arrived.”

“Yeah,” said Peter, rolling back just enough to look over his shoulder. He stared at her, his mouth twitching a little. “Guess we have, huh?”

“Peter, I—”

“It’s okay.” He was quiet and kind then, relaxing on his slightly-wrinkled bed. He winked. “Unspoken,” he said, with a little nod. “Right?”

Gamora lifted her head, brushing back his rusty-colored hair, and skipped her eyes across his face before she settled on his lips. So close, truly. She started to lean towards him as he shifted to give her room. So close.

“Hey, we gonna shove these people off this boat or what?” Yondu asked, breaking into the room with a bang.

Gamora was off the bed before the third word was out of Yondu’s mouth. She shoved her way out of the room, her features set in an almost perfectly disgruntled snarl. Yondu made room for her, of course, stepping back like she had shoved him when she didn’t lay a finger on him.

“She's in a hurry then,” Yondu said, looking at Peter on the bed. “Why you layin’ there, boy, when we got work to do.”

“Oh my god, da…no. Yondu! You! You are....” Peter flopped back, shoving his palms against his eye sockets as he let out a low groan. “You are literally the worst!”

“Maybe,” Yondu said, coming to the bed to slap Peter’s leg off the mattress. “But it gets the job done. C’mon. Up and at it, son. Let’s go.”

Peter grumbled, rolling up to a standing position. He glared at Yondu a bit before he started for the door.

“Yeah, that’s it. Come on. You can kiss yer girl after we’re done,” said Yondu, slapping Peter on the back. It only made him groan louder, either from hitting his wound or wounding his pride. Both. It was both.

\---

The beach for Ipsis IV was busier this time around. The migration season of the Huttu’ui in the mountains was over with and so the beaches were back in season. Rocket actually had to park between two other ships on the landing pad, stealing a spot before another cruiser took it out from under them.  Vendors littered the beach and tourists roamed around in herds, bringing plenty of business up to the resort town ahead of them.

“I gotta say. Maybe there’s something to this whole ‘running in numbers’ thing,” said Rocket, coming down off the hatch with Groot in tow.

Drax and Gamora were already off the ship. They had their “special guests” in handcuffs on the platform beside them, their various blades ready and pointed at them. Mostly First Chor, the mute kid standing beside his taller cousin. Groot was strutting next to Rocket, like they were doing some big deal thing, until he looked down the beach and started running off.

“Hey, wait!” Rocket scampered after him, quickly skirting under the m-ship. “Groot!”

“I am Groot!”

“Okay,” said Peter, ducking needlessly under the awning of his ship as he stepped through the hatch. “Anyways….”

“That was fast!” Mantis said, touching Peter’s side and accidentally infecting him with a jolt of giddiness as she slipped in around him to step out onto the strange white and red sand. “Oh, there are many more people here this time.”

“Yeah, plenty,” Peter said, laughing despite himself. He scrubbed his chin to stop all the smiling like some giant idiot dork when Gamora looked up at him. “No, right, cause this is serious.” He stepped off the ship, strolling with a confident jaunt. Act it, be it; that’s what he thought. “Hey. So, home sweet home, amiright?”

Abar and her crew or whatever looked beat to shit. They were tired. They were defeated. And they had returned home with nothing. That was a hard knock to take, no matter how you sliced it. Even though Peter knew that him and the Guardians were the Good Guys—he’d put it on a business card if you liked, make it real professional and everything with like little holographic lasers that looked like lightning bolts? Yeah, he had a design drawn up, don’t even worry about it—it still felt kinda terrible. Like, if he thought about it. If they all really thought about it, Abar was just trying to get her life back on track. Sure, she did it by kidnapping Yondu and screwing with the team and, like, that one guy Je-eff or whatever was dead, his body burned through the engines at Abarnatasi’s request, but still. Sucks.

“Listen, I know you don’t really want to take this,” Peter started, but Mantis passed by him again and touched his arm, filling him with a sense of peace and understanding. He smiled down at her, giving a little wink. “Oh, hey, Sis.”

Mantis giggled. Gamora definitely shifted from one foot to the other, but she had her sword out so she couldn’t exactly cross her arms or anything and the scowl was already there because she was staring at Abar, but, like, yeah. She was jealous. Peter smiled brighter at her, almost vibrating with a happy energy. He had to tell Mantis to watch it later.

“Hello,” Mantis squeaked back, going around them to take Abar’s hand. “Hello to you,” she said, a little softer, her cheeks warming to a nearly neon green.

“Hello,” Abar said down to her, smiling back as Mantis started to remove the electro-manacles they were wearing. “You do all this, darling?”

“Only some,” she said, ignoring the team behind her.

“Is that bug really…?” Kraglin muttered quietly into Yondu’s ear. He was just grinning and had his hands tucked into his belt.

“Yeah,” he answered in his own drawl. “She is. Let ‘er learn some.” He tapped a knuckle against Kraglin’s chest and turned back towards the ship. Kraglin followed.

Drax seemed the most enthusiastic about Mantis talking and working with these criminals. His pinkish-ringed blue eyes sparkled and he nodded very slightly at her short, awkward conversation with Abar. She was learning, sure, but she was doing it her very own way. And maybe she was awkward and maybe she was terrible at it, but she didn’t dance around or do all that flashy tongue biting and hip gyrating that Quill liked to do. No, this one was sweet. And ugly. But sweet nonetheless.

“We’ve also set up a transfer of units,” Mantis said helpfully as soon as she undid the luphomoid’s restraints. “Is that not right?”

“Hmm?” Peter looked up from the sand, coming back to the conversation. “Oh! Oh, right, yeah. So, listen, Abar, it’s not the full bounty. Not even by a galactic mile. But!” He stepped closer, resting his hands on his hips as he did to give him that sturdy stance of somebody who could take a punch. _Please don’t punch me right now_ , he thought, and she could sense his apprehension. “We figured we could finally pay off some of that debt that Yondu racked up against yer mother. Think of it as the next generation making amends, right?”

Peter held out his hand to her for Abar to shake. She looked down at it, rubbing her wrists needlessly, as the electro-manacles hadn’t actually constricted her enough to cut off any circulation. She turned to her crew. The Krylorian twins were nodding, holding onto each other, completely ready to get out of here, please and thank you. The luphomoid looked bored, twitchy, annoyed, hungry maybe? Her cousin, First Chor, drew a line down his palm, dotted it twice, and gave Abar a soft smile. Abar just sighed.

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “Yeah. Alright. Amends.” She clapped Peter’s hand in her own, pumping it up and down in a firm, near-bone crushing handshake. “I suppose we can’t ask for more since we attacked.”

“You cannot,” Peter answered. He withdrew his hand and wrung it out behind his back. “But, hey. Just cause I’m feeling extra special about all this, I’ll give you a cut of our next payout to finish up Yondu’s debt. Alright? Then we won’t have to worry about getting attacked next time we come here?”

“It is a lovely planet,” Mantis said, clasping her hands up underneath her chin and spinning back to fawn up at Abar.

Abar glanced down at Mantis, unable to hide a little bit of a curl in her lips. Ah, to be in love. Or, whatever, a crush or something. Peter didn’t want to think about it. Still, she nodded her head. “If it means y’all will come back to us, I guess we can do that.”

“Deal,” Peter said. He tilted his chin towards Gamora. “Huh?”

She sighed and withdrew her blade, coming to stand beside him. Drax was laughing with Mantis, who was near bursting levels of giddy. It was strange to see him act so, well he didn’t want to say childish and he definitely didn’t want to say girly, but excited. Although, yeah, Drax always got excited. Peter shouldn’t be surprised at all. He nodded. No, this was all good. This was right. He even put a hand around Gamora’s waist to pull her close and she in turn stood by him, returning the gesture by touching the small of his back. This was great. This was exactly how it should be.

“We’ll see you around, Guardians,” Abar said, taking her own crew back across the beach to wherever they needed to go. Home. Brothel, actually, but that was a home too. “You too, darling,” Abar said with a rose-pink mark flashing on her hand as she pointed at Mantis. The others immediately started ragging on Abar about how she was so damn predictable. It was good to see another family come back together again. Go off together again. That seemed just about perfect.

“This was still the stupidest thing you’ve done,” Gamora said with a gentle pat on Peter’s chest.

“Probably,” he answered, looking down at her and curling his other arm around her waist to pull her into a hug. She hated affection in front of others, but at least she wasn’t pushing away right now. “Bet I can do something even dumber by next week.”

“I’ll put money on it,” she said. “My entire share that goes off to that…woman.”

“Hey, you didn’t even call her a bitch this time or anything. You getting’ soft, Gamora?”

“Hardl—”

“Hey guys!” Rocket called underneath the Milano wingspan. Groot scurried back just as quickly as he had run off, looking really smug about something.

“What?” Peter said, annoyed at another missed goddamn opportunity to just kiss her. He had to act faster. This playing it cool nonsense was stupid. What was he, Knight Rider? Oh my god, don’t even…. “What is it, Rocket?”

“I found it,” Rocket said, pleased as punch. He walked up with his cube in hand, the same one that he’d built specifically for the beach. “Nobody musta known what it was so they just left it alone. Got it all set up for next time and everything! I mean, I gotta clean out the rotted fruit that got stuck in there, but that’s stuck in hyperspace right now, so.” He shrugged a furry shoulder, licking his chops. “Meh.”

“Hey!” Peter squeezed Gamora’s hips, spinning them in the group. “How you guys feel about going on a vacation?”

There was a collective groan. Mantis was the only one still giggling, though she bit her knuckles to keep quiet as she read the groups's mood. Drax waved a meaty hand at him and started up the gangplank into the ship, Rocket waddling behind him, holding his cube.

“I am Groot,” said Groot.

“Figures,” Rocket answered back.

Gamora dropped her hands down and slipped out of his reach, just enough to shake her head.

“What?” he asked, loud enough for the group. “What’d I do? Oh my god, guys, c’mon. Give me a break! I got stabbed, alright. Are we forgetting that?”

“Not even a solar week,” said Gamora, patting his chest again. She followed up the gangplank, stopping long enough to curl a finger at him. Peter was deflated, but he smiled at her gesture. He could work with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading all of this! I have to see about finishing Kraglin's little one off adventure on the planet and then, hey, let's see where these crazy cats take us, huh? I still owe you guys Yondu teaching Peter how to fly, don't I? You bet I do!


End file.
